The Insidiousness of Life


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The insidiousness of life is that it constantly presses upon you;
it is unrelenting in its demands that you nurture and refine it.
It evolves, with or without your consent, so there is no rest,
to simply put it on cruise control and enjoy the passing of time.
For me, every breath is a nuisance; every step is a cursed journey
saddled with failed expectations and societal derision.

I never belonged to this world, nor has it offered itself to me,
and the contempt with which I hold its false promises
eats at my guts like ravens nibbling away at my meaning.
Where others are guided by the soft-bent wings of angels,
I am weighed down by the relentless nagging of demons;
wicked little imps who mock my waking hours and torment my sleep.

There is not a grave dug deep enough to bury my sorrows,
nor do I seek any forgiveness for my sorry state.
I will wash away the stench of my miserable existence
with endless cups of liquid absolution, and in my drunken state,
I will stumble through somehow.

Tomorrow’s sunrise may warmly embrace the multitudes;
each with their cheerful dispositions and infernal optimism.
I, on the other hand, will wither beneath the heat,
thirsting constantly for the darkness beneath a waning moon,
for it is in darkness that my soul finds its true voice.

4 thoughts on “The Insidiousness of Life

  1. Reading this, I have tears in my eyes and I cannot help but feel rage. I feel like through this writing and looking at your picture here on the left side, I can see into your soul and I can see so much gentlines, beauty, warmth and love – all suffocated, beaten mercilesly, and I hate it, for I see into other as well and I see dirt, adorned in happiness, joy, gifts and oportunitites.
    I would have sailed away with you, sir, somewhere where the night is lulling and peacefull, where the waters cleanse.

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  2. It’s such a horrid truth in life that it isn’t fair. I wish no-one felt that to hide in the darkness and drink was the only way to ‘stumble through’. Am i right in thinking this an old poem? I feel as though i have read it before.

    Like

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