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don’t bother, there is nothing but ghosts here

i hold a gun to your head and another to my temple. this is the egotism of humanity—walking flesh, strung together with muscles, barely keeping from falling apart. we don’t realize how close we are more...

i hold a gun to your head and another to my temple. this is the egotism of humanity—walking flesh, strung together with muscles, barely keeping from falling apart. we don’t realize how close we are to the edge. one wrong move, one bad day, could topple us over. humans are so fragile, sensitive and bitter, jaded little things. the gods in our hearts - the most pathetically human parts of us, of all. man made beliefs intertwined with man made morals. right and wrong, enforced by our own self indulgence. we are all liars and cynics at heart: and isn’t that okay, too, to become empty? to become more? to rid yourself of ego, to try and kill love, that is the most human thing of all. and we just continue on regardless, obliviously close. or maybe we all know. maybe we are all desperate.

maybe we feel nothing at all.

maybe we a r e nothing at all.

and there’s a stomach in my mind, hungry and aching, wanting. i do not know the nutrition required to keep it substaned, because no one has ever taught me what it is. maybe nobody know what it is - and my stomach is empty. the pain is there, clutching around nothingness. it’s grown into familiarity. i try to stuff it full of what it craves, what it desires, but i don’t always want what is healthy. self indulgence riddles me, and no matter how much i eat of it, consume worlds with my tongue, the value is all off. my mind is malnourished, the wrong things absorbed, the wrong lessons learned through nothing.

my own personality is eaten up like fat, stored away because i know one day i will always starve again. self inflicted or otherwise, destruction at its finest. and i am just a fool, like all naive children, blinded by wide eyes and faulty logic. i have rationalized my feelings away, divided them to rations. and there is no rationality in that, no matter how i struggle to find it, thrashing against my own bonds. i do not know where they came from. sometimes i wonder if i tied them myself, bound my hands because i know, no matter intention, hands hurt. rough and calloused with scars, covered with a acid eating through, to hold me would be to let the cohesive liquid burn into your arms, too, down to the bones that hurt and ache just like minds, just like stomachs. and there is nothing in that. it is a meaningless gesture, yet we all crave all the same—there is no correct nutrition there, and yet we still eat all the same.

we will all die the same, too. rot into corpses of ourselves, of our minds. into dirt, into dust, flowers and bugs over running us.

isn’t it beautiful? to have yourself overrided, used as the nutrition we have not found? parasitic and pretty, all we are, all anyone is. isn’t it beautiful? to say such words? empty, like our heads, our stomachs, aching.

wanting for something to fill it.

isn’t it beautiful?

(isn’t it disgusting? humans, desperation permeated to our bones. we have soaked in fumaldihide for too long. we are corpses, too, only living. isn’t it disgusting? aren’t these egos repulsive? isn’t it better to rid yourself of them, rather than binge eat our emotions? there is no balance if we don’t know how. our equilibrium is off.

i wish i could be be empty in a way that doesn’t hurt. don’t we all? isn’t it just another way to say fulfilled?)

we gasp and crawl and struggle out of graves, out of the sand that would have us buried, barred, stripped of what made us, us, and maybe it would be better. yet we struggle. we always struggle, desperate to escape our tombs.

we will always end up in our tombs.

death is inevitable. if you do not accept it, you will go mad trying to run from it. it is not something you will escape. it is not something you can.

those who are not liars are the most selfish of all.

are you used to it yet? these nihilistic, innocent eyes? childlike in nature, to be optimistic is the worst cynicism of all. hope and despair are not desperate coins. do you understand? does anyone understand? these are the truths within our natures. we are all starving. looking for nutrition, and finding none. only indulging unhealthy habits, only eating what we desire. never what we need. we never know what we need. some take to eating up others, eating them up until they, too, are nothing, nothing but dirt and dust and dead things trapped between teeths. they will bite into you without regard, destroy you for themselves. and it is never enough. nothing will ever be enough, because we are all humans, wanting and starving and desperate. some will ask to be devoured, devoid of anything. some will ask before they feast upon flesh, find broken pieces of you and mold them with the broken pieces of themselves, as if that will make them whole, as if that would make them anything but with more pieces, more fragments of broken hearts and souls, corrupted bonds, just a line in a story.

nonsense words that we write, without meaning. we tack on the definition but it’s all just second rate.

every life has worth, in a intangible way. we assign it as meaningful. we put markers to paper and write down our value.

i write down zero on my own paper skin, and assign something different than egotism.

we are all in a downward spiral. it is what loving is, all it ever is. yet we keep loving anyways, because it is not something cut out easily. those born without it maybe lucky. those who succeed in unskilled surgery have only butchered themselves with a scalped shaped destruction. even closer to meat, they are unlucky. we are all in a downward spiral, fast or otherwise. some crash and burn, and those, may be something in between - a painless death may be something in between. a painful one may be, too. the lines of luck are non existent. and a slow decent is still a decent, and one day, we will all hit the ground. no matter what, we will all hit the ground. and it will swallow us up.

because no matter how solid it seems underneath us, it is a expert in breaking us down, an expert in creating its likeness. it will always swallow us, until we become just another piece of sand. indistinguishable.

because that is simply what earth does. that is simply what earth is; bones grinded into the semblance of nurturing.

this is apathy, and all that other shit that doesn’t matter.

i am very good at destroying myself. I do it with precision, and without care.


art source: ...less

A playlist by
50 tracks
  • 3hr 2min
  • 16
  • One year ago