Blanks

The grey matter of puzzle pieces; each contorted square.
A jigsaw on a cocaine binge hath made my mind go spare.

Starting at the edges, building a frame to then fill in.
Still miffed at what the whole should be; no picture on the tin.

Warped evil genius will answer for efforts to conceal.
Not a single clue’s been proffered; this game gives no reveal.

Slow, my pride dug in, I seek pairs to show the end occult.
This may take my lifetime; I have no guaranteed result.

Each new match bewilders me; still no notion of the art.
This thousands worded image, only done if I play part?

I only know connections that I’ve made along the way.
Maybe the last piece is me…slotted on my dying day.