The Remorseful Contradiction

Remorse is a guilt or hatred, tangibility is the ability to reach for something that seems so real, an exoskeleton is everything within us, and within us is a thief born dormant, but soon thrives

 Perhaps sometimes you are a little too impetuous. You worry of your fears just as they worry of you. To lash yourself in front of the one thing in which enlightens you in a state of anguish, does it fulfill you at all? Do you feel relieved or do you see even the slightest fragment of devastation? Perhaps you are too naive, or egotistic, or erotic, or over-dramatic. Worry not. Compact flesh and bone offers the darkest of things and the lightest. A body to call home, only to say goodbye in the late seconds of being. Wrap your arms around the torso which you have the privilege to call your own and breathe in the air which you have so mercilessly stolen your whole life. It isn’t a sacrifice, nor is it a choice, but a downright waste. A corpse, a form of decay, a body from which drained energy, that can no longer be. A mind that can no longer speak. Lungs that cannot extract, a heart that cannot beat, veins which lay empty, eyes that are left a dull white, and ears which cannot listen to anything but the sweet music of deep silence.

    You rest your eyes, the only things which can tell you what to believe, and you feel the air enter and then desert your lungs without a thought. Another thief, another day, but not another life. There is but one existence in which you have the ability to live and that is your very own. To lay on your mattress in the middle of the night, watching the shadows dance along the bedroom walls, is a time to forget. Forget your doubts and worries and stress and troubles and relation to the real world. Live inside your head for this moment, for it passes by sooner than you would expect. It’s a dream, although you made it seem the most tangible. To reach out and caress what you desire isn’t being egotistic or sorrowful, but rather lacking. It is the thought of gaining something you so desperately lack and may never have, yet it is not something to argue with or detest. It’s a promise. The promise to freely choose the things you desire, the things that lay meaningful to you.

    To sacrifice that tangibility is to sacrifice one’s happiness. Their well-being perishes at their fingertips and all sign of the ability to procure anything from then on wilts on sight. It is not something to slide into a golden frame and then mindfully place on perfect wallpaper. It is something to mourn, something to accuse no one else but yourself for, and never to sacrifice again unless a cursed day were to come. Something to guide away from yourself. There is nothing more rueful than the sight of your own self forsaking you. Consuming one’s being is to obliterate all of their consciousness and leaving them to float in a sea of insignificance. Rebirth is no more than a mere myth, but the birth of decease is no more than a mere factuality of existence. It is inevitable yet easy to accept. To accept inevitability is to accept the point of existence as of existence is one of many inevitable things. To cease to exist is merely as impractical as to reach a dormant star and to exist is merely matter.

    Perhaps you just may be a dormant star. You thrive bright, bursting like how an infant bird can burst from it’s shell, and then you cease to function, becoming inoperative for a period of time before something inside of you strikes and you suddenly bloom with light just like before, but this time even more brilliantly. You may feel the oxygen seeping into your pores whenever you inhale, but as you inhale it all becomes unimportant to you like a speck of dust on your shoulder, even though without it you lose the ability to function and begin to vanish. You are nothing short of an exoskeleton packed together with flesh and blood. It’s not something to be proud of, since you are walking among billions of others who have made this small planet rot with remorse, but rather whatever you sense it to be. Boring? Yes….Fun? Yes…..Important? As fulfilling as it would seem for it to be important, without a lie to tell, it’s something that happened and that can become difficult to conceive.

Walk on the decay of another exoskeleton and your breath with be cut short. In the end we all have a fault. In the end we are all forgotten, yet in the end there’s always a story. The story of an egg. The egg was everything, a world even, and then it hatched. In order to be born, in order to cease being a cold and hard shell, you must first destroy a world.

Author's Note

Sorry if this is too depressing but if you understand the concept then I hope you can relate or at least understand.

Reviews

[M P Ramesh]

F C,
I find in my reading history that a big volume has been spent by writers for great thoughts... unresolved issues...yes I mean death, love,grief,remorse,envy,lust,mates,loss, win etc...When we get an opportunity to be light like the above?
Carry on....


M P

[M P Ramesh]

flower crat,
It's life that is important and time where you stand is true
There is nothing called preparation for it
but inhale it
imbibe on it
get dissolved in it
carry on...................



M P Ramesh