No Death Wishes, Ever

I’m sitting and I’m thinking and so I’m writing. And I feel like I’ve said all this before but I need some sort of in to shed these coils; these imaginary circumstances. Because in my mind’s eye, there is depicted scenes of guns drawn. They fire. They maim. They kill. And when they kill, I am torn down from life; my limbs shaking with the coldness of death. My loved ones in anguish. Myself but a wish through a paradigm, erupting through space. And I snap back to reality. And I cry.

I’m lucky that these are mere visions. These incisions will petrify when I am brought back from my nightmare. I’m lucky. I’m lucky and I don’t believe in luck. A paradox. I believe in The Way. I believe in Truth. I believe in the goddamn American Dream. I believe in Justice. My beliefs have been formed through insight and experience. And I’m fucking right in my beliefs. Because they’re based on Love.

And yet, I do fear you peoples who wish to cause harm to absolutely anyone different than you. Hell, I really do despise your very being; your soul, tainted with the mark of some primal evil. In a sense, it seems to boil down to perception. Yours and Ours. And I believe so many of your perceptions are severely lacking. I believe you’re dead wrong about so much. I believe your wish for everyone to have a gun – but not Them, of course – is juvenile; asinine. Disgusting. You disgust me with your hypocrisy in all things Holy or profane. Your love of the bloodletting, your thirst for some visceral, maniacal, cold-blooded firestorm. You are the oppressor. You are the problem.

But I don’t wish you dead. And I wouldn’t ever. Because no one should be able to make such a decision. So what? We’re all responsible for what we have created. Fuck! What You have created, you monsters! You beasts!

When it’s You, it is my nightmare. And I can’t always tell the difference between the feelings in my own reality and that of these hallucinations. And so I stare at the news and all your beliefs. And weep.

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