Life constantly feeds on living being, it's the reasons they exist and it's the reason they don't or I shouldn't but they won't.
Like a tree full of different variations of fruit, some are healthy and some are rotting, and every day someone keeps on taking some fruits. Life, some will call it fantastic, and some live all their end, their lives seeking instant pleasure, but the truth is, life is a putrid cycle. Live to live, live to create, live to reproduce, when will we find an actual good reason to keep on going? Some live only to find a worthy final rest, some will do it, some will be decomposing next to all the other rotten fruits. life is found in death, the big lion feeding on the weak little deer who has given up on the fight, and the pursuit of existence, the most intoxicating thing isn't death, it's life itself, life is the essence of putrefaction, and everything that life has created will be taken by deaths cold embrace.
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Experimental Philosophical Psychology .
Poetry-Warning, this story contains a very vile and variable vocabulary, and a violent language, please do not take any offense to this content this is simply my opinion and my point of view, this story contains various suicide and self harm references...
