the fragile infinite (poem)

the horizon mocks me, with its stunning display of infinite possibility.
inside me, the anxiety of those possibilities, of constraints, of failed attempts.
a morphing world that seems to have forgotten my very existence.
maybe it didn't even remember me in the first place.
in such chaotic abundance of direction what guidance is even warranted?
the next minute is unknown, forget about a lifetime of possibilities.
why do I desire, to assume that in some way I can build myself, my world?
the fragility of the world is eminent. terrifyingly, obviously, broken.
if I am of that world, what edifice of self do I build?