fathom this

to fear and loathe oneself is like strapping a bomb on your chest and leaving the trigger on the floor, only to hope and step on it as you walk aimlessly in the dark. to fear and loathe others, on the other hand, is like...well, everyday of my life. or that's just what i think. the endless analyzing that occurs on an hourly basis can do wonders to a person. it can shrink that region of your brain that controls your ability to focus. it can, and most certainly will, leave you in a sea of regret and a massive headache. for in the end, who, and what, are we really running from? is it that glimpse of supposed actuality, that unforeseen event in the future (or that un-event in that case), or the gruesome walk to the bathroom, accompanied by the horrible look into the mirror? we're just so busy following a storybook written by no one we know, forgetting that life isn't supposed to be set in pretty print in a thick book. it's just so much more than that. as our brain is hidden away in the dark, taking in electrical impulses and dishing out sensations left and right, we forget the powers it encompasses. for when life finally claims victory and you are six feet under, that's when you write your storybook. that's when you remember what you did and didn't do. it's that exact moment when the prison bars slide open, and a breeze of soft air pushes through your hair. life is inexplicably something we can't fathom. something i can't fathom. we treat life as something that has purpose, yet we conjure ourselves as too weak to possibly discover that purpose in our lonesome. the comfort of a secondary source fills that void, allowing us to continue our day. but then we live, or think to live, a normal life. yet we have forfeited the game right then and there. we have passed this burden onto an imaginary person, not realizing they have made a home on our shoulders and continue sinking us down as we feed them horse manure. as we look straight ahead, all seems as bright as the sun taking its place in the sky. but with every sudden movement of the neck, everything just seems to stink. suddenly, fearing and loathing seem like level one. and i just can't seem to beat it. and there we are, dead, in a pile of horse shit in a pretty casket in the ground.