It's pushing like darkness. What color, what color could describe the build-up of every horror and all this fighting and forced and the fact that we've all become demons?
Demons to ourselves and others.
It is the fight within that hurts moreso than any other.
When suicide is cowardice but for the people who want that freedom more than anything else they call life cowardice. When it is all mixed up and mushed up and nobody realizes it.
The ones you hate are the ones you become.
You carry that weight like a constant burden, as you hook up person after person on your backpack, and all day you go through walking with this hate pushing down. And you never let it go. Ever.
This stone sinks throughout your soul like a boulder, fast and quick and heavy 'till your stained tar-black and you remember.
Heavy hands, bleeding hearts. Hospitals and white-rooms and the scent of alcohol on someone's breath. Motions, blurs, as memories crash down like lightning strikes, setting fire to your mind 'till its ashed and gray and thoughtless.
And you remember.
And like a monster the hate swerves up in you and grows a little bit. It's such a small thing.
It is writing this piece, this thought.
That adds to it. It could be any day, any action, and the hate grows and grows, just a little at a time.
It is not harmless.
And like echoes and repetition there is something going on in your brain, destroying it and healing it in one fell swoop. And sanity is just a question mark, an impossible thing distant to reach. And each action you realize how stupid they are. It doesn't matter who 'they' are. What matters is that it is your 'they'.
And the hate fills you up and pushes out all room for love and suddenly the object of your hate?
You can't love it anymore.
I can't love myself anymore.
And how horrid is it to see these things and echoes but you're just one person. And even if someone listens to you it will never spread fast enough or far enough. But even a message you give of love, it becomes a message of hate. You're fighting through a foggy haze and losing yourself in something. And you can't even remember what that 'something' is, because you're too far gone.
And tomorrow you will wake up and you will fake everything you feel because the hate numbs you, and you welcome it as you fall into a black so dark it masquerades itself as emptiness but ultimately it comes to the same result.
Please don't let me go that far.
And nobody knows if it's reversible because most people don't realize they're destroying themselves. Let it go, let it go, let it go and save yourself from this pushing darkness, this horrid thing, this terrible thought. As it crams you in a hole too small and pushes and pulls you until you are shaped in some sort of jagged grotesque mockery of you. It is not you but the monster that arose in your mind, that is created.
The greatest monsters are the ones in ourselves, the ones that are formed by life experiences. For some they draw up as nightmares. For most, they draw up as hate. Yes, this darkened creature that is twisted and cruel, that is - that is everything you hate. That is now you.
It is a matter that we must not forget. We must not forget these terrible actions but neither must we forget to forgive, to release, a little bit at a time. An ebb and flow that can save us if we let it, if we grab on and let it pull and peel our layers away until we realize that we can be saved.
When you are raw and red you are real, and you are no longer hate but instead you've located your center. The thing that made you, you when you were first born as pure as sunlight. That is what is there, that is why it is something burning past the hate that doesn't let you fall completely. Because it craves the light and the peace and it is pushing out of its shell. It's there.
You're alive. You're real.