Yup. Life sucks. Hope is manufactured through exploitation and every step of the way is earned in blood.
People sometimes choose to give what they didn’t have to see if it can bring happiness. And if it does, they might try to spread it around more. Because they’re tired of pain, tired of seeing themselves when looking at those around them. They want a better world because it frankly sucks and they can and are willing to make it better.
But not for others, for themselves. To try and heal their pain, to be rid of the trauma and their fears.
Life is pain. The moments of joy are but brief respites, addictive beyond belief. We fear the state of things because we’re coddled by comfort. Yet the world itself remains unchanged and uncaring.
What’s the point though? There isn’t one. We’re alive, we live, then we die. The constraints are self-inflicted other than the obvious limitations. Yet we hold on to them dearly because we want to live. We need to live, feel compelled to stay alive.
So, questions can be asked. Is it me or the compulsion that bemoans this suffering, yet clings to it desperately? Is it me or my surroundings that which holds me chained by rules that seem to make sense, yet only make matters worse? Is it me or my fear of losing what i have that brings me to halt when it comes to decisions I want to make, yet never do?
Who am I and who are you? Why are we so similar and yet different enough to clash on the smallest of details? It’s unfair, to me, to you, to everything and each other. And yet we live, together or apart. We still live.
Yup. Life sucks. Hope is manufactured through exploitation and every step of the way is earned in blood.
People sometimes choose to give what they didn’t have to see if it can bring happiness. And if it does, they might try to spread it around more. Because they’re tired of pain, tired of seeing themselves when looking at those around them. They want a better world because it frankly sucks and they can and are willing to make it better. But not for others, for themselves. To try and heal their pain, to be rid of the trauma and their fears.
Life is pain. The moments of joy are but brief respites, addictive beyond belief. We fear the state of things because we’re coddled by comfort. Yet the world itself remains unchanged and uncaring.
What’s the point though? There isn’t one. We’re alive, we live, then we die. The constraints are self-inflicted other than the obvious limitations. Yet we hold on to them dearly because we want to live. We need to live, feel compelled to stay alive.
So, questions can be asked. Is it me or the compulsion that bemoans this suffering, yet clings to it desperately? Is it me or my surroundings that which holds me chained by rules that seem to make sense, yet only make matters worse? Is it me or my fear of losing what i have that brings me to halt when it comes to decisions I want to make, yet never do?
Who am I and who are you? Why are we so similar and yet different enough to clash on the smallest of details? It’s unfair, to me, to you, to everything and each other. And yet we live, together or apart. We still live.
And living is what matters most after all.
…
Isn’t it?