On occasion I try to purify my mind with masochism. People ask, "Why
do you keep putting your hand in the fire?" Because it feels so good
when I stop. We all do it from time to time. Bloodlust takes over and we
swing wildly in attempt to grasp bits of glass. The more we know the
more we crush ourselves. Beat the information into our skulls until we
bleed and lay hopeless in the midday sun. Eventually we heal and start
the process all over again. Humans are gluttons for pain and self abuse.
The
night sky has a way of pacifying even the largest of egos. We are
nothing but particles of sand in an infinite desert. I am neither rare
nor memorable. I am not an anomaly. How I so desire to be an exception
to the rule! In a sea of beautiful women I want to be the one you see
when you close your eyes. I need to resonate in your mind after a
hundred years. The sensible, logical part of me realizes the fallacy and
my happiness is spent. The truth cuts deep and takes no prisoners.
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