DeathMarch66
Sad Satan
- Apr 15, 2023
- 27
As I sat, hands covered in soot, I thought to myself, "what is love?" And yes, I am excruciatingly aware of how generic that is. However, I realized that love is not and cannot be a singularity. You see, there are the impure forms such as gluttony and lust, but love in it's purest form is to be content. Content with both pain and pleasure, content with everything that you have and everything you lack because of it. Love is being content in the very fact that you exist and will eventually cease to exist. But more than this, it's being satisfied at the fact that the very air you breathe is being shared by someone else. The fact is everyone experiences love in a different way. But the sad thing is that not everyone will. You see, the masses are attached too deeply to this world. And seek what they already have, in everything else, they become a vessel for everything they don't need. And as they do this, they drift farther and farther away from their deepest truths. But even if they find what has been with them since before birth, to understand it you have to lack more than any man, women, or child ever has. You have to be empty in order to open yourself up to what it means to not only love, but what it means to be close to death and peace. For no being loves the way we do, no being can love the way we do, for no other being is as imperfect as love. Because of this we are above angels. Only God transcends us, for God and only God has the capacity, the capability, to experience time and space as we never have and as we never will.
The irony is that once you realize what love is and have transcended it. You no longer have the need for it nor the desire to live with it. It is that moment in which you realize how mundane you are. But it is when you lose love that you realize how wrong you were. And it is at that stage that you become cold and full of pain, not because you are ensnared by it, but rather the opposite, because you wish it upon yourself. It is that very cycle that has made me melancholic and masochistic. Wandering this desolate wasteland you call civilization in a mask. A false faced king, my slurs nothing but omissions for the truth. Truths no one will accept because they threaten their way of life, their very existence if you will.
But it was past this foolish stage of existence in which I realized that I had encapsulated myself in that cycle to become more. To become stronger as you would say in plain speak. I had become more so I would exist as more. I had realized that I had the capacity to understand things that others never could. It was then that I was truly born. And I have since then chosen to be melancholic and masochistic because I enjoy it, and it appeals to me more than anything else ever has. This is the very meaning of my existence.
The irony is that once you realize what love is and have transcended it. You no longer have the need for it nor the desire to live with it. It is that moment in which you realize how mundane you are. But it is when you lose love that you realize how wrong you were. And it is at that stage that you become cold and full of pain, not because you are ensnared by it, but rather the opposite, because you wish it upon yourself. It is that very cycle that has made me melancholic and masochistic. Wandering this desolate wasteland you call civilization in a mask. A false faced king, my slurs nothing but omissions for the truth. Truths no one will accept because they threaten their way of life, their very existence if you will.
But it was past this foolish stage of existence in which I realized that I had encapsulated myself in that cycle to become more. To become stronger as you would say in plain speak. I had become more so I would exist as more. I had realized that I had the capacity to understand things that others never could. It was then that I was truly born. And I have since then chosen to be melancholic and masochistic because I enjoy it, and it appeals to me more than anything else ever has. This is the very meaning of my existence.
