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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Emotional · #1851023
Life is simple and complicated all at the same time.
Just A Dream

         I guess I'll never get to write that book, run that marathon or climb that mountain. I can still be able to remember what I imagined it would be like. Life is so short and sometimes shorter than that. Will I escape from my prison, my cell? Will I be free someday? If I find freedom in death will it be real, will I be real? Will I be happy trapped in eternity?

         Life is simple and complicated all at the same time. If life is all about choices, that of which there are so many, how can you ever be sure to make the right ones. So many paths to take and so many ways to get lost. So many mistakes that can never be forgotten or forgiven. So much wasted time just wasting time. A prisoner of my own destructuon and it's all my own fault.

         When will I wake up and find this nightmare fading out of my memories. When will I be free. I feel like i'm already dead. I feel like death is standing in the corner watching me right now. Contemplating, deciding, trying to figure out how it can take something that doesn't exist. I have no life, I do not live and for those reasons I am not alive. My misery, my pain, my forever eternal grief and suffering. There is no time off from self destruction. No vacation from the decaying of my life. Every breath I breathe tastes like death. In and out as my life slowly fades away from the stupidity of my youth into the wisdom of eternal damnation. For me there is no salvation. I stopped believing in angels when my angel stopped believing in me. No shinning light for me to look forward to. The only thing I have is that one last stumble before I trip and fall into the fires of hell. It doesn't seem that far to fall because the pain of life makes me feel like I'm almost there. No more drugs to numb me from the tragedy of my life. No more can I close my eyes and pass out into the peaceful world of unconsciousness away from the constant pain of living. No more can I close my eyes to the knowledge of the world and pretend to be blind. For I know the true meaning of life and the tragedy of humanity. We are only born to die. Alone and miserable in this world surrounded by unrelenting ghosts.

         They say that all life is precious. How can that be true? When we are gone we are forgotten. We die and are laid to the ground like trash to the landfill. We are thrown away and never thought of again. Like a smoked cigarette thrown out the window of a speeding car in the darkness of night. And we don't look back unless only for once just to watch as it collides with the asphalt and explodes into a million sparks. It's last brilliant show before it fades away from sight and memory. That is death in all it's shinning hopelessness. Be not afriad. It's the force that makes the world go round. Nations are built on it, countries are born from it and it gives birth to the hope of prosperity. What does freedom sound like? Is it the sound of water splashing while wading across the Rio Grande? Is it the echo of AK-47's ringing out into the ears of oppression. Screaming out in pain across decades of history. Or is it the sound of the whole world holding their breath for just one minute of peace in two thousand years of war? The world is dying. What can i do to help? I can't even save myself. No one else can save me either. They don't want to, I make them not, because of the bastard that I am. Who would of believed that I had a heart, not even me, suprise I actually do though. Too bad I found it a little too late. Too late to save myself. Too late to really matter at all. Too late to change the path i'm on because it's too far back to find that road that I should be on. I'm not proud of myself. I'm ashamed of myself. I don't love myself. I hate myself. As I scream into the opressive void of desolution do I see myself a mirror image of the hatred that builds within my heart, my mind, and my soul. Or do I see what I could be if only fate would take a turn and have some faith in me.

         Are we cursed to be like all those who came before us? Are we cursed to become that monster that we hate? Are we forever cursed to remain that monster that we are? Or is their hope? Hope for change. Hope for understanding the difference between what we are and what we can be. I hope so anyway. I can't stand this pain anymore. I can't feel my soul and I don't think it's there. When I close my eyes and sleep I don't have dreams anymore only nightmares. All my dreams have died. They've all faded away into that place called nonexistence. Laid down to the cold ground and given in to the pain thats called reality. Given up on the hope of ever becoming real. Given up on me, knowing that I don't have the ability to make them anything more, than just a dream.

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