FUTILITY
Why fight? I sit in the place that to everyones' eyes I have always been sit in. And I ask myself that question: why should I continue fighting? Why should I continue fighting? During every moments of my long and painful life I have fought, for existence first, for this right that everyone seemed to refuse to me. Then I came to fight for my life, for my mind, as I discovered that life was a jungle, that no one would let me chances, to I even less than to everyone else. And then, they come to me now, at this moment, when, to their eyes, I have finally reached and passed beyond the final line parting away sanity and insanity, and ask me why I do that kind of things. They should ask themselves, they made me being what I am, they created a monster of coldness by despising me, rejecting me, laughing at me everytime and now they complain... Strange. Strange that they qualify me of a child that cannot fully comprehend yet the importance of our survival, and that they cannot find in
themselves the strenght to blame the right ones for the mistakes they judge and accuse me of. I am their mistake. They are the responsible ones for my decay in this liking of violence and death. And then they dare blame I for their mistake. I shake my head, in despair, unknown to the people around me. I could scream, I could spread out my destructive feelings in the Commonality, no one would hear me yet. I am invisible. What is to be done when an error is made and that repairing this msitake is impossible? The response is evident. Ignore this mistake, do as this mistake had never existed, deny its existence, denying by the same way ones' reponsibility into its creation... How long will they yet deny my existence? I am surrounded by thousands of beings, though alone. Completly alone. Lost in the darkness of my own mind. They will not be satisfied in knowing that they ignore me, they will go further, they will make me doom myself, they have given me a taste of this power, this
power that they think I will be too weak for refuse... They will be wrong. I swear they will be. They keep ignoring me still, but one day they will see. They will see that where they have failed, I shall won. Their life is so fruitless, how can they be so naive in believing they could change something in our sake? Even I, a child, can perceive more of the truth than themselves do. It is extremely sarcastic in one sense. Sarcastic... oh yes it is. Because, ultimately, we will all die. Then why fight? Why waste our strenght in this hopeless fight? I sense them, I sense the Soothers, coming closer, they surround me, comfort me... Soothing is all I hear. And slowly inside, nothing yet appearing outside, as if someone had been there to remark it, I change back. I change back to what they have formed me of. I change again, morph back to this monster of cruelty that is the excuse for all of their own madness. I am again their toy, they changed me with words, I could oppose nothing
to this sweet torture and convincing. And was. I only was. Because the little voice inside of me. My voice. I. I am pushed further, buried deep under the layer of coldness that this other, that they made... him, I, us... - I don't know yet - erect around myself, for protect everyone from seeing the truth. I am killed once more. I feel this torture once more. No. Please. No.
Why fight? I sit in the place that to everyones' eyes I have always been sit in. And I ask myself that question: why should I continue fighting? Why should I continue fighting? During every moments of my long and painful life I have fought, for existence first, for this right that everyone seemed to refuse to me. Then I came to fight for my life, for my mind, as I discovered that life was a jungle, that no one would let me chances, to I even less than to everyone else. And then, they come to me now, at this moment, when, to their eyes, I have finally reached and passed beyond the final line parting away sanity and insanity, and ask me why I do that kind of things. They should ask themselves, they made me being what I am, they created a monster of coldness by despising me, rejecting me, laughing at me everytime and now they complain... Strange. Strange that they qualify me of a child that cannot fully comprehend yet the importance of our survival, and that they cannot find in
themselves the strenght to blame the right ones for the mistakes they judge and accuse me of. I am their mistake. They are the responsible ones for my decay in this liking of violence and death. And then they dare blame I for their mistake. I shake my head, in despair, unknown to the people around me. I could scream, I could spread out my destructive feelings in the Commonality, no one would hear me yet. I am invisible. What is to be done when an error is made and that repairing this msitake is impossible? The response is evident. Ignore this mistake, do as this mistake had never existed, deny its existence, denying by the same way ones' reponsibility into its creation... How long will they yet deny my existence? I am surrounded by thousands of beings, though alone. Completly alone. Lost in the darkness of my own mind. They will not be satisfied in knowing that they ignore me, they will go further, they will make me doom myself, they have given me a taste of this power, this
power that they think I will be too weak for refuse... They will be wrong. I swear they will be. They keep ignoring me still, but one day they will see. They will see that where they have failed, I shall won. Their life is so fruitless, how can they be so naive in believing they could change something in our sake? Even I, a child, can perceive more of the truth than themselves do. It is extremely sarcastic in one sense. Sarcastic... oh yes it is. Because, ultimately, we will all die. Then why fight? Why waste our strenght in this hopeless fight? I sense them, I sense the Soothers, coming closer, they surround me, comfort me... Soothing is all I hear. And slowly inside, nothing yet appearing outside, as if someone had been there to remark it, I change back. I change back to what they have formed me of. I change again, morph back to this monster of cruelty that is the excuse for all of their own madness. I am again their toy, they changed me with words, I could oppose nothing
to this sweet torture and convincing. And was. I only was. Because the little voice inside of me. My voice. I. I am pushed further, buried deep under the layer of coldness that this other, that they made... him, I, us... - I don't know yet - erect around myself, for protect everyone from seeing the truth. I am killed once more. I feel this torture once more. No. Please. No.