{dramatic gasp}: The art of self destruction – 101
It begins with a feeling. Feelings of generalized sentiment, anesthized with common ritualistic methods of keeping up grimly appearances. It boils down to heartfelt emotions. Emotions that begets another, creating a cycle of controlled chaos within the perimeters of your existence. Playing an unfathomably devastating storm to everything that surrounds your immediate vicinity. Fear. The common bond between happiness and despair. Losing what you love and loving what you’ve lost. Both brimming with that very fear. That very bond. The chain that links and entwines both worlds in conflicting clarity. The abhorrent enervation of the present, rendered obsolete by that fear. A fear, which shows you hope leaving before its arrival. Uncanny isn’t it? The fear of losing something you’ve yet to have. Or may never have. In cold irony, that fear compromises the hope that you desperately desire. In the end, leaves a rubble in the aftermath of the cliche of what could have been. But then again, it was never about changing the inevitable. You’re bound to end up in the same miserable ditch you’ve dug for yourself eventually. The only illusion of choice is which path you get to take. As for me, Being the self inflicting, imploding glutton for a punishment I am, I seldom take the scenic route. I cut of the head off of happiness where it stands with blind faith in saving myself a few more ounces of misery. A thought that is almost always fraught with the murder of all misconceptions in the end. A midst it all, losing all sight of what you’re dragging down with you. Who to be exact. In the end, self destruction is never inward nor contained. Oh yes, there will be casualties. Hence, the malignantly coined term, “we only hurt the ones we love.” Such a paradox life is. It surely will be the death of me. And like I said, there will be casualties. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to divert all the vultures’ attention from my moment of weakness with the aid of cynicism and profanity. All hope is dead; long live the leeches.