to cough, to scoff. to lick and be licked by the flames of pain that have no aim but to close itself to those that have no wealth of self, holding a rose by the thorns until their palms are torn and their patience worn. to laugh, and laugh away what might be right or wrong, whether or not the choice belongs it is a moment we shan't rejoice or revel in - and a liar so-called might find themselves a mired soul on this day to inspire. inspire what is fake, the very thing that makes our shitty souls quake in such nonchalance, a chance to burn and learn, to make what's ours to take and let it be for your sake - a choice never-ending but always-ended, as we rip rend the flesh of the mesh of reality, so unequal in rite and spite, like a clock broken on a dock or a hawk crushed by a rock, we don't know one from eleven or two from blue. our souls, they vomit subtlety and cascadian viridian, a mountainscape of blatant pain. pain that licks the eyes dry, and cracks the lips wet.
pain, the undeniable emotion that's the source of our ever-eroding soul, that which makes us whole.
pain is chemical expression, a splatter of any colour on any canvas in the world.
it branches and weaves around heart and never sets apart you and I,
you and I.
the ever subconscious progenitor, the ever realizing subjugator,
hurt is the fleeting epitaph of negativity, bastard of wrong and relativity.
locked in a bad space, it seeps into our veins and corrodes our heart,
it blossoms into hurt, and so willingly blooms into pain.
it's pain I want to share with you,
to bring our negativity so close together,
a chemical.. atomic.. anatomical reaction.
don't console this blooming black rose of pain,
whose thorns so wholly dig into what makes me sane.
I share this pain with you,
watching your budding hurt, bloom into beautiful pain,
as it starts to rain, the drops drip splatting on my window sill,
and just by pure will we find tearful thrill in this chill.
as I force pain into your vein,
and let it coalesce in your heart,
your soul.
humanity is stupid and broken, unwilling and messy. but we were born this way, it's a reality. no matter how much we want to help those we've come close to, they often just want to bleed out into your stupid soul, a role I willingly take every time no matter the reason. because I'm stupid and broken, as humanity is.
when we hurt from life, and feel pain, we almost always want someone to help us shoulder it, rather then let someone lift us from the shallow hole we've dug. it's the human way, and for some reason (with great complication often) it works.
it works because we let it work. because for every time we do it to someone, there is bound to be one to do it to us. we share in each others pain, and let it bring us close - a gothic beauty, and idealism.
I wouldn't say that I like it, no.
I wouldn't say that I in particular find it beautiful at all, no.
but I find a kind of.. realistic attribute to it's philosophical implications.
to live is to to be, to be is to experience, to experience is to feel.
to feel is to inevitably hurt, and revel in self pity and pain.
and as a response to that hurt, that self pity, and pain,
we shake the chains of the bonds we've made.
and we find clarity.
and we find a smile.
and we find love.
because to be human, to have this figurative idea that is our soul at our very core, is to love. even the darkest, and most broken among us feel this, this love so clearly bubbling and bursting from within us. and as love can birth hurt, and pain.. it's the emotions sought to recover from those experiences that can lead to more love, as life so ironically loves to come full circle.
goodnight,
internet.
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