I hate this world so much...
I am so tired of finding the things I hate most nestled amongst the things I ought to love. I have never doubted the existence of evil in the world, I have merely seen it differently. I have not the strength of being to crusade against evil. I have never had that kind of faith. My faith is a brilliant part of me, stronger than any other and more vibrant than anything else I can possess. It shields me from the ill will and unkindness of others. It has not given me the strength to save the world, only a precious few. I see evil all around me. I see it in all the people that I pass, save a few. I do not hate people for their evils. I hate their evils, and it twists my insides like hot metal. I cannot understand it. All along are things of beauty and worth nestled into, even born from the things I consider without the slightest merit or redeeming quality. I cannot understand it.
Tonight there was an event that ought to have brought joy and peace to those who feel they are my family, and even to me, for though I have never kept them as my own, I am not so hardhearted as to feel nothing for them. I am sure that those others in attendance will walk away proud and honored, pleased at the evenings festivities and glad of their invitation. I would have as well, but as I left I found a cluster of them hiding in the dark passing poisons amongst themselves for pleasure. I left that place with such anger and cold pity in my gut that I cannot now sleep.
What possesses a man to do such a thing on his wedding night? Is not the joy of such an event worthy of a clear head and ones full attention? Of course, I know why they do it there in that place at that time. They do it because it is something they do, and to them that place is no different than any other, that occasion is unseparated from their lives and worthy of no further reverence. They do it because they are enjoying themselves and that is what they do when they are happy.
I cannot understand it. I never have. Perhaps I never will. I have never seen the purpose in it. I have never felt the allure. I have never seen a value or a benefit in it.
Why does everything have to make me so sad? And when it does, why can I never cry? Why can I never speak out? Sometimes I long for the days when my sleepless life made me mad with my own endless thinking and I could not help but speak honestly. It was painful and hateful and callous, but I was at peace in the deepest parts of myself. Now I am a turbulence of dreams. I am a poetry of perfectly restrained chaos. I can be anything I choose and I choose to be nothing because it allows me to resist the fatalistic momentum I carry. I could wake tomorrow and tear down everything I have ever been party to in a matter of hours and have nothing but my solitude to console me. I could wake tomorrow and speak nothing but lies and it might be decades before anyone might know it to be so. Or, as is likely the case, I will escape, as I always have. I will settle here in the cold and dimness and choose to remain awake, fully aware of my own discomfort, and immerse myself in another world. I will escape into another world for a time and come back to myself when this seething blackness is deeper and less likely to inform my actions. I will escape, because my faith has never been the sort ot let me make war. If I let it burn that brightly, to drive me to that sort of action, I could never return. I am not ready to give up yet. For all the fool in me I hold fast to a tiny hope. I shan't speak it for fear that giving it to the words of men would slay it, and leave me with only faith and darkness to choose from.
I do not know which I would choose.
Tonight there was an event that ought to have brought joy and peace to those who feel they are my family, and even to me, for though I have never kept them as my own, I am not so hardhearted as to feel nothing for them. I am sure that those others in attendance will walk away proud and honored, pleased at the evenings festivities and glad of their invitation. I would have as well, but as I left I found a cluster of them hiding in the dark passing poisons amongst themselves for pleasure. I left that place with such anger and cold pity in my gut that I cannot now sleep.
What possesses a man to do such a thing on his wedding night? Is not the joy of such an event worthy of a clear head and ones full attention? Of course, I know why they do it there in that place at that time. They do it because it is something they do, and to them that place is no different than any other, that occasion is unseparated from their lives and worthy of no further reverence. They do it because they are enjoying themselves and that is what they do when they are happy.
I cannot understand it. I never have. Perhaps I never will. I have never seen the purpose in it. I have never felt the allure. I have never seen a value or a benefit in it.
Why does everything have to make me so sad? And when it does, why can I never cry? Why can I never speak out? Sometimes I long for the days when my sleepless life made me mad with my own endless thinking and I could not help but speak honestly. It was painful and hateful and callous, but I was at peace in the deepest parts of myself. Now I am a turbulence of dreams. I am a poetry of perfectly restrained chaos. I can be anything I choose and I choose to be nothing because it allows me to resist the fatalistic momentum I carry. I could wake tomorrow and tear down everything I have ever been party to in a matter of hours and have nothing but my solitude to console me. I could wake tomorrow and speak nothing but lies and it might be decades before anyone might know it to be so. Or, as is likely the case, I will escape, as I always have. I will settle here in the cold and dimness and choose to remain awake, fully aware of my own discomfort, and immerse myself in another world. I will escape into another world for a time and come back to myself when this seething blackness is deeper and less likely to inform my actions. I will escape, because my faith has never been the sort ot let me make war. If I let it burn that brightly, to drive me to that sort of action, I could never return. I am not ready to give up yet. For all the fool in me I hold fast to a tiny hope. I shan't speak it for fear that giving it to the words of men would slay it, and leave me with only faith and darkness to choose from.
I do not know which I would choose.