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The drug that is death

2013-12-12 14:37:35 by Insanctuary

For something we fear greatest of all, it's awfully strange that we're addicted to it. When someone dies, we react to it in a way that a person lives in someone else's experiences, for they did not gain enough self esteem to value their own experiences. It's something that shares the form of abusing drugs .-. how we find ourselves going back into the monster's lair with the same hope of fixing ourselves after such endeavors were proven futile the first dozen instances. Death is the hidden heroine in our lives .-. it does reveal ourselves more than heroine, however. The place death is accepted at is entirely contorted compared to the true essence of death .-. the room where death is oftenly mourned over is commercialized and computerized in a way that it's never the same as burying your loved one with a tightly knit group of those you love .-. where nobody else can siphon the energy that had been driven out of a once conscious vessel of experiences somewhere out in a truly mundane and natural atmosphere .-. where you do not have to spend any money, and only time that's worth your while. Otherwise you'll find yourself in a quiet room along with a commercial person that has zero experience standing next to your dead loved one lying motionless in a casket .-. repeating the same emotionless, irrelevant speech about your loved one, while you either are keeping your emotions in, or drawing them out on the wooden bench .-. surrounded by very few loved ones. The rest being people that are using this death to fill their own voids they had the chance to reconcile before.


2013-12-10 22:49:05 by Insanctuary

There are many rifts in our everyday lives .-. some more profound than others. We choose to gain way, or to run away from our rifts .-. with little or no reassurance to follow. They come unnoticeably when we're at our least expectancy, and at our broadest point of remissence. There's no winning the struggle, for the rift we've created defines us .-. it's the integration of our lively faculties. To run from a rift would be no different than running from our reflection, or our shadow. There's no point in running from ourselves, or what defines ourselves .-. whether it be a scar in the deepest remnants which lie beyond our unpainted eyes, or a bright star that ceases the highest regions of an opened sky. Life will always tear us away from our shadow and force us to face it .-. else, our world will only become darker the more we reject the darker side of our moon. This rift is essentially an aspect of death .-. a form of emptyness that can drive us into becoming the very thing we hate and fear about ourselves, for that's all that remains left when no action is taken with enough time. Then there is the power to take this emptyness to create an expansion of life that will always grow greater than this emptyness and its boundaries. Why do we fear isolation or its reflective tendencies? Silence is a rocket ship that can never leave a cold world, but it takes us places where we matter most .-. a home. Silence takes us home. It reveals us to ourselves, only when we close our eyes and let our senses cease for a moment's time to drive ourselves from the inside rather than the outside. Silence is that blank portrait .-. that blank sheet of paper .-. that person you never met in your life, but feel naturally drawn to. We are always trying to piece ourselves together in this empty world to realize that life isn't about piecing ourselves together .-. it's about acknowledging that life isn't a puzzle .-. life is a parabolic ocean of mirages that we cling onto when we forget about our own reflections. Life is about always holding onto ourselves .-. a piece forever intact. It is only our sheer lack of willpower that convinces us we've lost something when it was the thought of losing something that created the rift, and not the object/subject itself. Ideas define us more than our actions .-. actions will only be the facial expressions of our definitions.