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It wears me out...
To think that there are such things called emotions, such useless and meadlesome things that forever cloud logical judgement, that prevent me from ultimate perfection in the things I seek out in my lifetime. Am I weak-minded to feel this way, or is everyone else for feeling the ways they do? Never coming home, never coming to my remembrance, is this feeling, this wanting, such longing to be loved, to be wanted, to be honored, to be grieved over.
This emotion dies now, but I don't miss it. I don't want it to ever return. And yet, I promise myself to ideals. I promise myself to people. I promise myself to the ultimate sacrafice. If I fall, I know I won't want to be saved, I know I won't even want so much as to be burried as I would want to be burned to ashes to scatter into the winds. I hate this, it's the hardest part of living...
...admitting that you're human...admitting that you feel things...
...but images of little girls crying don't touch my heart. Instead, it makes me think of an irresponsible child-bearer and co-conspirator that should be wiped from this Earth that their spawn might not suffer the same fate and that no further children might be created that might grow up to be the same way that the idiot parents are.
 Xits the Tragedy · Fri Apr 21, 2006 @ 12:22am · 0 Comments |
