Perfume of the old gods.
We are dead, lying in the same shallow graves eventually unmarked by time.
Though I am young and they are old, we lie in the same graves.
A sweet thought?
Bitter?
Bittersweet, perhaps.
No.
Because it hurts with a willing smile and to numb out the pain is an easy choice we have chosen to deny.
Bittersweet is to trapped of a word for this feeling.
This happiness hurts only because we let it, and know that anything less than the full truth of the pain is a lie easy to take and easy to tell.
This pain is the pain of honest feelings as we slay the cult of happiness.
YOU ARE READING
The Egoism Dilemma
PoetryThere's only so much one can take before one snaps and writes shitty poetry and almost-but-really-not deep thoughts. Xx
