Angst on Emo Crack
Is there really no life without passion? That supposedly all-encompassing need to connect. A fire that would burn even when it has nothing to sustain it. Is it really worth it? So many say yes. But, oh, how many of us would love to say no. No, we do not want it. We would jump at the right to deny ourselves that pain and joy. But for the fact that we'll never know, and by not ever being able to know we rob ourselves of the validity of wishing for such freedom. For if we can never have a life scoured clean from passion, one that leaves everything cold and pristine like a frozen winter's night, then we can never show we have the guts to actually accept such a fate. We can wish for it all we want, without fear that it will ever come true. Security in misery, unable to take that last step, declare ourselves brave by removing that desire. Others can say that we don't really want it. That we can affort to pretend to want that cold because it is an impossibility.
So, I ask you, what am I to do? I can punish myself for it. I can love only those people I cannot have. I can sink myself into an infatuation that leaves me hollowed out, and when I collapse emotionally I can laugh at everyone who feels and thinks they want to feel. I can ensure that every little thing I feel is connected to pain so that my heart never forgets how much I hate it. I will never forgive it.
Human. Feeling. Hedonistic. Only I'm not going to be. Masochist. Sadist. Pleasure begets pain, often pain begets pleasure, and it's mine for the creating.
Passion. This I feel. But you cannot make me want to feel it. I will, and I will use it, but I will always allow that windswept area of my being- the one that is cold and empty- do what it pleases. That passion has to go somewhere.
So, I ask you, what am I to do? I can punish myself for it. I can love only those people I cannot have. I can sink myself into an infatuation that leaves me hollowed out, and when I collapse emotionally I can laugh at everyone who feels and thinks they want to feel. I can ensure that every little thing I feel is connected to pain so that my heart never forgets how much I hate it. I will never forgive it.
Human. Feeling. Hedonistic. Only I'm not going to be. Masochist. Sadist. Pleasure begets pain, often pain begets pleasure, and it's mine for the creating.
Passion. This I feel. But you cannot make me want to feel it. I will, and I will use it, but I will always allow that windswept area of my being- the one that is cold and empty- do what it pleases. That passion has to go somewhere.