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THOUGHTS OF DESPAIR


(PS. I am sick. I am tired. Hopelessness dwell. The poet speaks)


How much are our lives worth just to keep other’s joys worth?
Since we did not choose to be born, they tell us death is not ours to make.
Is it true liberation to be free from the shackles of fate?
Fate not for us neither by our own hands, but from and for those upon our heads they stand.
Life is supposed to be a gift, yet pain is constant and we cling to our grit.
We were programmed to live, but on how to do it is worth of grief.
They tell us to eat, to relax for tomorrow is another day upon the rack.
They our captains, we their crew. I could have choke myself in the womb if I only knew.
Yet, nurture, love, care are all but a virus. To support life as a disease. Malignant, contagious.
Why is it that we yearn for a smile? We yearn for laugh? We are all going to die anyways.
Why continue on breathing? Why can we not will this impulse to live? We are condemned to go on.
Ironic. When we are about to end ourselves quick, life flashes to tell us and gives us a nasty prick.
Do not die yet. There is more meaning. There is happiness. Up ahead is a new beginning.
We intoxicate ourselves with existential purpose, yet we live by the day usurped. Purpose is a lie.
A lie we create to give color to this absurd reality. How foolish we are to wishfully evade the inevitable.
Earn this, work hard they say. Sadly, the step to the life worth living now has a price. Humanity is one.
Who keeps their sanity in a routine that lasts a lifetime? On a desk we rot. On our dying corpse they profit.
Have a break they say. Yet, come back if you want to stay. If you do not, we slowly and painfully die while being astray.
Challenges come and define you. We will triumph. More lies. Look at those on top, they have made it!
At our expense. Their ingenious machinations thrived coming from the constant of childbirth.
Romanticized as love making, horrified as unwanted sex towards unwanted pregnancy.
Our bodies are living sacrifices, for our blood greases the gears of the engine they erected.
Time has become an enemy, work has become its equivalence. Do not work, and our time ends.
Time can be bought, happiness is a moment. Travel is a luxury in the moment. All is time.
The malevolent genius made time a race, not for them. Their luxury is giving them bliss. While suffering seems like eternity.
How time flies fast with every smile. How slow it is when we endure.
Life is a blessing to those who are too high with purpose and to those who stack the cards.
We who labored for their enjoyment live in a curse. Call it service they say. I say, usurper!
Life is this for me. Work! Art has died. Worth is now based on pleasing the master.
There is no more day that I wake up in bliss. I wake up not to live, but to be used and abused.
What is there to live when all we do is give? Life drains, other people drain you.
Charity is a virtue; kindness is an acceptable gesture. How can I continue to give if I have none?
What have I to give if I have none? They want this corpus? It is of best revenge when I will not let them have it.
Imagine we all burn ourselves! Who will be their slaves? They will learn to crawl the shithole with no one to use.
Life is a gift, not to us but to them. Make us pay for holistic improvement for their benefit. Then let us level the stake by burning one stakeholder.
The wheel turns because the other half is there. It cannot when the other half is gone.
They tell us again that life is beautiful! I say, death is the ultimate bliss. No more pain, no more happiness. Just nothing.
Longing for the other side of the coin just brings us to the possibility to land on the unwanted side. The coin has to be removed. There, no sides.
What is an empire without subjects? If all infants can kill themselves in the womb. Then we evade the fact of pain with a possibility of momentary happiness.
I am tired. I am morbid. I am dark. I am desperate. My grim thoughts are what comprises the nimbus in my head.
Let me retire, let me retreat. Sadly, I cannot. I am yet to live. Just live. All I can give. Until I am nothing more.




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