Psychosis of Mortality

I never truly understand what is it that makes a thing humane. Is it the ability to have empathy for others? To feel and understand the experiences of others. Quite frankly speaking, I assume that it has been an idea of fiction. A simple lie we tell ourselves to sleep better.

Otherwise, I assume mortality would be the only thing that would make one human. Throughout history, humans have painted themselves as these immortal beings forever moving forward and discarding anything in their paths Shameless excuses to pursue greed, envy and pride.

I would be a hypocrite to argue that I am built on virtue but nonetheless I could relish in the idea that I have a superficial sense of purpose in understanding what exactly mortality really is. It doesn't limit itself to death. It could limit itself to the constraints of life.

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This is highly laced with morbid irony. It's a book that is meant to humour certain qualities of society whilst dissecting imperfections.

Reader caution: This is heavy. If you aren't in a healthy mindset to read pretty demeaning literature then I would refrain from reading this. Otherwise, go ahead. The only thing that would stop you is you.