Absinthe

Them

Whe do we love to believe that we all have breaking points? Limits in which our spirits turn unto themselves, taking us beyond the brink of self destrucion?

These people exist inside of us. We love them, but we envy them, we envy their freedom. We create them because our cowardice and self pity do not allow us to go any further than the 12th hour.

They never say they're sorry, they never say the right thing even when their desires and cravings are but one word away. Thay dare going against their flesh and their drive, they despair in the filth that we create for them as their ultimate fate and maybe we smirk, maybe we nod, maybe our eyes well up, maybe we laugh out of sheer stupidity, maybe we stare in disgust, maybe we even pretend to pity them. But we are jealous of them. We are jealous of their misery. We wished that we could attain such depth of self neglect.

We look for the ultimate sense of happiness and wholeness in the satisfaction of the flesh and the mind, but the truth, that only our collective subconscious dares speak of is so dark and uncomfortable that all we can do is hopelessly please the gods in ourselves, and move on.

Not that it's a bad thing, though. I sure do enjoy it.

publicadas por Germán @ 6/07/2005 05:56:00 a.m.