•{ We shall all perish, disappear into dirt, and life after us shall continue. }•
"What's love like?"
My voice aches with quiet loneliness as I whisper my sorrows.
"Will I ever truly know? Or will this numbness continue to pick at me until I am nothing but a ghost of the person I was meant to be?"
It really is my fault, isn't it?
I brought this numbness upon myself, but then again, I don't like to waste my time in feeling anymore.
I spent my days in the ravines of my once was mind, thinking. Feeling worthless emotions.
Being human is one of the hardest things. We don't just follow our instincts and produce kin, then die, no. We have to find the perfect person, follow our worthless dreams, then die.
Why do people care about how good life is? We all die at some point, then burn in hell. There's no point in making things "beautiful" when we're all just burnt flesh in the long run.
We live to die, right? And we die to live? So what's the point of this pain when life itself contradicts itself?
Philosophy can say whatever the fuck it wants too. But no matter what, we're all dead.
We're just bags of meat, walking around like we know what's going on. No one knows what's going to happen.
We die. That's it. There's no point in feeling when I'm just going to die a worthless pile of putrified skin.
But I still feel. It's only human. I can't push it away entirely. The numbness is the heaviest things in earth. Emptiness isn't empty when you look deep inside it. You will look, hard, and only see nothing. But nothing is something, right? Nothing isn't possible.
But then again, I am nothing. I am a soulless maggot looking for a way out of the endless abyss called feelings.
What exactly does love feel like? Try to describe it. But no matter how you describe it, it still sounds like you're describing the affects of cocaine. Fluttering heart, butterflies, euphoria.
Cocaine is a chemical. Just like the chemicals in your brain, making you think you're in love. It all boils down to chemicals. That attractive person you saw today, it's just your brain releasing dopamine so that you can reproduce to keep the world going.
Everything is pointless. Why can't we just follow instincts, and fuck someone like animals? Animals don't have to suffer loss, or love, or grief. They just have to move the fuck on and survive.
What exactly is the point of surviving, anyway? We could die right now, and nothing would change. The world would keep spinning, people keep paying taxes.
We're all so small and irrelevant.
Can I just die now?
Life is a prison, but death is a door. We all exit this musty cell room eventually. One way or the other.
There's no point in feeling anymore. Loving. Hating. Moving. Thinking. Crying. Laughing. Hugging. Creating.
No matter what, we all die. We will all just become flesh affected by necrosis. We are nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Blessed Sins
PoetryI wrote a (few) poems because why not? And I'm ✨ s a d ✨ This story also contains swearing
