Survival is the first instinct.

Why are writers one of the most likely types to be eaten up by their
emotions from the inside out? Or perhaps artists in general, or should I
say creators, expression-ists, those who must expel or transform. Why
are they the most likely to commit suicide? They have so much to offer.
I am not necessarily talking about myself, but those whom I admire. I wish they
could be content in that, but perhaps it's their discontentment which
really makes them feel most alive and gives them purpose and a subject
to focus on. Something to convert and transfer to be seen with the
naked eye. It's what they live for, until their art fails them by
emotions that lose their novelty as they rest in a familiar grave.
Until their pain becomes dull, still there but rubbed by the conscious
till it bleeds and declines. The mind has become so full it empties
itself.

Reviews

[Kevin]

Wow this is amazing. It holds a powerful message, and really resonates with me. The flow was brilliant, and word chose couldn't have been better. Kudos.