A Random Mess Of Randomness Poem by I write because I have to

Pounding away my problems
is how I often solve them.
Grinding them to dust
and blowing them in the wind
thats when I know it's time to begin
another struggle,
another search for trouble,
another random mess of randomness to fill my thought bubbles,
to consume my every moment.
I feel like my life is borrowed and I'm striving hard to own it,
to gain atonement,
but it's expensive
and the charges are extensive.
But I'm paying the price
and life's grip is like a vice grip
and I think I might slip, despite
all the confusion
I'm using these illusions
to steady myself
but it's a forgone conclusion.
So now what? Now that I'm here,
somewhere
lost between a doubt and a tear,
what will be the next thing
life brings to perplex me?
Maybe if I crack the code
and set the difficulty setting to low
and take my time and take it slow
I'll be set -
no need to press reset,
hit start again...and pause...
because
when life's slapping me in the face all I hear is applause.