When you’re coming apart at the seams, what do you see inside? When no one believes in your dreams, how does it make you feel? Do you break down in despair, or do you drink to numb the pain? When so many years of visions and faith have passed you by, do you still have the guts to continue knowing that failure seems so likely? Perhaps it’s madness. Perhaps it’s just a tale of a child who never wanted to grow up. Maybe all that effort and perseverance wasn’t worth it. Should’ve become like everyone else. Should’ve settled down and been content with a lifeless ordinary. But to try and fail is far more interesting than to succeed in resigning yourself to a life you never wanted to lead. Be sincere. Be truthful. Continue in the face of defeat. Strive to achieve what makes your heart burn with delight even when no one else shares your passion. Never be afraid. Never lose that ambition. It’s a journey riddled with despair and pain. The years come and go. Lovers fade in and out. Others rise whilst you fall. Is it really worth it? Shouldn’t you just give it up and do something sensible? Earn some money, get married, have kids, live the cycle of man? Shouldn’t you just resign yourself to the fact that all you were meant to do was mirror the lives of millions of others.
Aren’t you the fool.
This obsession isn’t healthy. It’s unnatural. What drives someone to make so many sacrifices in the name of mere words? When did a vision of creation consume everything in its path? What drives a person to lead such a solitary life? The answers remain hidden, obscured by the dreams that cloud searching minds. These lonesome souls, do they seek what can never be found? Do they remain destined to forever fail when such truths are bound only in the great beyond? It’s a path only the deranged will ever walk. Who would favour ideas over love? What kind of beast would yearn for a universe where inner thoughts and beliefs are worth more than acceptance and gold? How did it all come to this. How did a life become so entwined with what can’t be tasted nor touched. Was there ever a moment when a line was crossed signalling the point of no return? It’s a strange world. It’s a tragic play that knows no end. And yet we play out these roles because it’s what we feel inside. Despite the worst odds, we continue to fight for what makes us feel real. These invisible wars. These battles we fight every time we put pen to paper. Someone make it stop. Someone put an end to this cycle of misery and euphoria. Only no one will. It has to be seen through. There’s no other way. They’ll never know the turmoil. Never understand the horrors we face day after fucking day. And yet we wont cease. We will never say that enough is enough. This is how we are. This is how we feel inside. Beauty and the thirst for god in a world hell bent on slavery and destruction. Give us immortality. Let us be infinite.
Let us be, whatever we want to be.
Categories: On Writing