Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Not a big fan of Nietzsche, but the man ain't always wrong. In the discourse on Zoroastra, he mentions the metaphor above.
The snake buries his teeth in the dragon's flesh deeper with each bite, in a vain hope to inflict a fatal blow. Yet the venom of the snake only acts as an antidote, strengthening the metabolism of the latter.
It is ironic, when the snake is so desperate the dragon to notice, it tries to bite down harder. Such pathetic little attempts, as if it will prevent the snake from wanting the creature. Does the snake hate itself for this fancy? They both know the reptile can't. And it's driving the snake blind with madness. Goes ahead and pretends, as if the dragon doesn't see through its soul, like a transparent glass. Yet another fragile ego turning dejection into revenge. Expected more, honestly. Even when you thought things could be better off, it once again proves that the case is hopeless.
From the perspective of the dragon, it is simply disappointing when you put your trust in others, only for them to let you down. When the ones high above the hills stumble down to the depths of valleys, there is no need to blame yourself; for your intentions were sincere from the beginning.
What's more ironic, the Greek mythology claims that dragons and snakes are pretty similar. Different sides of the same coin, I wonder how the fusion would be. When the emotions gush out of wounds and envelop the snake and the dragon, just the two of them, obscured from the world. The snake's poison flowing in the dragon's veins. In the end, we are all particles of the same soul, will return to the universe as such. Addiction to the poison, unhealthy obsessions that lead to a dead end. But the ecstasy of incorporating into one, letting it consume the whole being, isn't it enchanting? Not being able to get enough, otherworldly feelings.
Cutting the cord back then was for the best. It doesn't take much, positioning the scissors and one big chop. The hardest part is taking the scissors in the hand. Another day of contemplating life choices. Because people support each other, no matter the circumstances. People don't go behind others' back. Once again assured not to trust anyone. Open the depths of your heart to a person, and it bleeds again with regret. As if Bruce and Selina switched places, yet the outcome remains unchanged. Even in Hell I'd let flames consume me before they reach anyone else. My rationale is sharper than ever, yet even in this state of my bleeding heart, I would let it own me, merge with the every cell of my system. I would probably take a bullet for it without a single regret afterwards, but that is just me.
The fountain pen in my hand, only a mere seconds left to cross out the name and burn the paper. As if on purpose, there is a desire for ties to be cut. If that is what is wanted from me, I have no choice but to execute, for I never keep whatever wants to escape. Rome wasn't built in a day, but it burned in one. One match is enough to tear down the buildings and bridges, then watch flames engulf the whole city.
In an alternate universe, none of this exist. Lives are far more different, never overlapping. I want to shift into that dimension, forget about everything. I am about to shift, once and for all, floating in the borders.
