I am solely a biological tool

The hand in an incoprehensible cycle of misery

the knife of flesh which cuts all greater light to pieces

There's no point to my personality

There's no point to my feelings

Nothing cares about who I am or how I am doing as long as I am doing and remain a cog in the perpetuum-mobile of wretchedness

As long as I can pass on the tradition of deep hurt

I am solely a bundle of genetics that needs to go on for no point except its own permanence. A tumor, a virus, a prion

We exist within a false sense of rights

The right of higher spiritual meaning

The right for a happy ending

The right to independent choice

Yet no one granted them, no one promised them

And even if the promise exists

Why would the promise be held?

Death is an immoral, worst thing that is to be feared existentially

Yet it is the only conclusion, but... a thing to avoid at all costs?

That which haunts us throughout our entire life

Yet life is worshipped, cherished, for... what exactly?

Itself?

Haha, just kidding. Go live and be happy. It's not like you have a choice :)

frog by "Dric" on insta

found on pinterest