Something new with great potential, dead before it ever began. Perhaps easier on the weary heart, yet I ache at the loss of could be. The future, the unknown, which I seek so passionately, and feel more distant from by the moment. The realization that we are all as empty and worthless as I feel in those dark moments.
Destruction runs wild in everyone. Creativity fills my heart, but it pales to the carnage spread around me. To build a monument in a field soaked through with the blood of ten thousand dead men, how can I rejoice in what we manage to construct? Pale, weak, shallow, selfish little mortals who scurry and scrape without ever knowing why.
I aim to be enlightened, so escape the humanity I was born into. Difficult, when I feel so shackled. A sinking of the heart, into the thick, murky bog of my innards.
Frustration leads away from creation. I yearn to smash something. To fight and crush, feel blood that is not mine splatter across my face. To destroy as it feels all I know.
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