My life is such that the only thing I look forward to is sleep. In my dreams I am free of everything including gravity. Sweet dreams where I am hero. I awake sometimes in tears because of the simple fact that I woke up. I long for an eternal sleep. Hero forever
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Sleep is the cousin of death. – Shakespeare.
Yeah, an eternal, dreamless sleep that lasts forever seems like the best scenario.
I want it so bad. I need it so bad. Endless dreams. Endless flights.
It wasn’t Shakespeare but I really like the quote 🙂
Endless peace
Become a soldier and be an actual hero.
You want to die? die in battle.
I’m a United States marine. Been there done that. Funny that you would say such a thing. The killing fields stink of blood and fecal matter. I was never lucky enough to catch a bullet but highly skilled in taking souls. I should also let you know that was where my troubles started.
What exactly are your troubles?
You never know who you speak to or whence they come from
My troubles are nightmares. Demons that visit me on a daily basis. A rage that lies only skin deep. Soft ass motherfuckers that walk around shooting off thier mouths not knowing who the hell thier dealing with. Troubles that entail suppressing dark murderous thoughts. Troubles that include trying to be normal in a place you rather not be in. I’m a bomb.
HA! my nigga. Can’t help you with that.
WW2 , now that was a war , eh? https://youtu.be/-0olc3qJjLM
Are you a vet?
In a sense.
No , not really.
I’ve always identified with the “shell-shocked vet” cliche though https://youtu.be/3qpcyJ-nse0
Sleep
By Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset (1536–1608)
BY him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death,
Flat on the ground, and still as any stone,
A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath:
Small keep took he, whom Fortune frownèd on,
Or whom she lifted up into the throne
Of high renown: but as a living death,
So, dead live, of life he drew the breath.
The body’s rest, the quiet of the heart,
The travail’s ease, the still night’s fear was he,
And of our life on earth the better part:
Reaver of sight, and yet in whom we see
Things oft that tide, and oft that never be:
Without respect, esteeming equally
King Crœsus’ pomp, and Irus’ poverty.