Friends, Strangers and Enemies
I've been waiting and burning for so very long.
Frankly, I've lost myself at this point. The compulsion to create lives yet,
but there's a calcifying sense of futility underpinning my existence.
The absurdity of life brings hope, when the harrowing implications are cast aside for respite.
REPULSIVE DREAM
Let life, some day, also undermine our suffering.
For
once.
I believe... there is nothing inside me any more, but I don't think that's true.
Everything is poisoned.
All action is costly, all consumption, corrosive. There is only shame.
A thought frightened me. What if dying frees no one? As a utility, like any other afforded to us, it is
incidental. Like the only mechanism protecting us from infinite torment.
One is born. One is killed. To have come into existence but once, seems arbitrary.
To be trapped within some inscrutable cycle seems
Don't worry about it. These are all tiny little thoughts. Are not most thoughts delusions?
Sorry for being so edgy, and for all the nasty things I've been telling people about you. Just having an off day.