All of life is not misery. It just feels of late, a cloud hovers. Suicide blaring red letters across the skies, as if to tempt the coward.
For me, WordPress was never about publishing a book. The issue of publishing a book are the words forever etched into time. I rebel against such a thought. I strive to be free of this world. Why would i lock up my soul to mere pages? My desire exists beyond the confines of any mind.
So WordPress becomes an outlet to release my crazy thoughts. A cathartic exercise. Skimming the surface, I fear going deeper. What lurks there most would tremble, be repulsed, or worse, not understand. I feel lonely enough with these thoughts, without comments overheard. To those who don’t believe hell exists, welcome.
My gift is to burn my poems. Send them as ash to the Creator, in hopes they bring fresh beginnings. This present life has enough sorrow without my permanently adding to the drear and desperation so many witness and feel. Second-hand emotions are lethal.
My prayer is future generations will be afforded a pleasant, happy life. Absent of mine.
All of life is not misery. This too shall recover. A new skin revealed, to dress the wounds. A phoenix rises on the horizon.
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