December 20th, 2016by Jess765
What if death were beautiful?
What if we knew what was on the other side of the wall that blocks us from seeing what reality is like after we die?
Or if there is a reality at all.
I wish I had the courage to part ways with this physical realm, and venture into what comes after this. I have had enough of this place, this hardship and this torture.
And sometimes I think differently. Sometimes I want to see what happens next while I’m still here, rather than what happens after I die. Life can be beautiful as well, but my own mind is the villain in a long, drawn out story. It paints the world black and white and forces me to see it for all that it is.
A disintegrating, impermanent world built upon by the cruel and greedy hands of humans alike. An artificial experience that is designed for personal profit and power amongst those most undeserving.
And yet so beautiful.
I feel the air shift as the evil becomes stronger with every terrible decision, every awful act…every crime committed against nature herself.
I grow weak as I pour my efforts into this world, as if I somehow allowed the leach of society the honor of draining my blood with my consent. I give it my all and try so hard to love every single one of them, every single living being on earth.
I love them.
But I hate my self.
I am scared.
So scared that death no longer carries a darkness with it.
When I think about my death I can see a light at the end of the tunnel, as if the end of my life is the peace I want so badly for myself. I want to feel the release, let the universe carry me into nothingness.
I want the dark to swallow me whole and keep me safe from the horrors of this world…
I can still feel the words strike my body, feel them rip through my head and bury their pointy ends into my mind. I can hear them in my head sometimes, when I am passing into the dream state and I’m just barely conscious enough to comprehend the voice.
They are the most often used weapons in any man or woman’s arsenal. Words cut deeper than knives and razors, and the blood runs like a crimson river into my life, staining the world around me until I can only see the bad things about me. I become terrified of my thoughts and overwhelmed by my ideas.
I have lost my mind entirely now.
I really like the things in my life…
But are they real anymore?
How can some things be so horrible, and others so pure? How can it be a mixture of hatred and love, happiness and sadness, confidence and fear? I hear it so often, that life is a lovely gift we have all been given.
But death can be so beautiful
Oh how I wish I could join them in that peace.
The feeling of no longer feeling anything. Never worrying, never crying, never screaming or being in mental or physical pain. No more fear…
No more regret…
Carried out across a sea of comforting, warming darkness. A multiverse condensed into a singular, artistic cluster to be gazed upon by all who have been freed of their physical self.
I would choose to sit upon the great gaseous spires of far away nebulas, watching suns breathe their fire into the cold and vacant space. And other times when I felt the need to sleep, I would vanish into the darkest regions where not even the stars provide light.
But I would never worry about losing this sense of relief, for not even life is as powerful as death’s gentle grip.
I want this so badly…