The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Sunday

Ghosts

we are never prepared for anything, but always ready to chase after illusions.

we are always on guard against being hurt, but never really do anything to prevent it.

we are bitter and secluded, we divide ourselves between preparing for pain and the reality of it, because it's most likely to
happen and we love to be right.

we are dead cold inside, reckoning and prepared to regret not taking the chance, yet when it occurs, we deny it firmly.

we crave to receive love and warmth and we are prepared to give nothing in exchange, despising those who do so.

we suffer and then resent the pain we inflict upon ourselves.

we fill ourselves full of surfaces and leave the core unattended, deserted and hungry.

we dive into nothingness, yet we pretend we are so full of consistent values.

we miss chances  and pretend we missed nothing, then we take on breadcrumbs and marvel at how disappointing they are.

we pray for love and meet it with hatred or indifference.

we pray for salvation and deny it when delivered.

we are hung up on details and believe the bigger picture is a chimera.

we desert inner selves and expect deliverance from others.

we deny and deceive ourselves whilst we expect the truth and nothing more.

we live a sum of endless deaths and pretend to be alive.

we are our own ghosts, haunting shattered shells, trapped in an ocean of self denial.

                                                                          "Build my fear of what's out there,
                                                                           Cannot breathe the open air"

                                                                            Metallica - Sanitarium

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