Critique is welcome, but don't expect me to change this thing to suit YOUR preferences. That's not my style.
You think you can do better? By all means, be my guest. I'm not stopping you from putting your money where your mouth is.
This is some kinda sick and twisted chunk of text that exploded from my head in December.
It's pretty cynical, as is my usual style. Don't like it, don't read it. Stfu. ;D
Top of the Food Chain
I highly doubt that all of these real life matters are as complicated as everybody makes them. All we do is simply embellish the truth to sound more pleasing to the ear. After all, humans are definitely the best storytellers born here on this blue planet, which is why we are able to speak. Perhaps it’s even because we’ve been given this gift so grand that we abuse it so much. We pound reality into the dust until it’s become so blackened and bruised and covered in mud that it is no longer considered accurate. And all of this is done for some so-called “greater good” -- so that words can fly from the page of a journal, to the stifling summer air, to the unsuspecting ears, to the easily broken heart, to the place where they finally bury themselves deep within the self, smeared in blood upon the rusted daggers we eternally hurl at each other. Words are the most powerful, poisonous weapons we have at our disposal, and we as humans are tainted by them so very easily. The venom that drips from every sentence is astoundingly sweet, like honey. And it's so self-satisfying that it hurts.
It hurts so good.
You see, all it takes to begin psychological warfare is the simple desire to make someone else suffer. It's not even that hard to imagine, is it? Think about it -- not a day goes by when you don’t unconsciously mutter the phrase, “I’m gonna kill that jerk!” And just as suddenly as the words take form in one’s mind, those very same thoughts are able to create themselves as tangible, finely tuned tendrils of negative energy and proceed to ensnare themselves within the twisted fibers of one’s seemingly mundane routine, creating what we can only properly describe as "lies".
People talk. And when people attempt to talk over one
another, voices are raised. Soon enough the entire world is shouting, and the
racket pierces one’s very soul like the sound of nails scraping a chalkboard. Where
has the original truth gone? At this point, I’m not sure anyone even remembers.
Even so, I find that this "truth" is rather ugly in its own right.
We're all just wretched gnats hovering around the dung heaps we have become so very accustomed to. If you’ve tasted sh*t all your life, the only taste you will develop a palate for, when all is said and done, is more sh*t. Once we leave the comfort zone of our own disgusting pits of slime all we have waiting for us is this tangled web of stories and opinions and other similarly warped atrocities that don't even matter. This is when we open our eyes and discover that we’ve trapped ourselves in this sticky web and the more we struggle to break free from it, the more desperately the age-old tug-of-war game drags us -- kicking and screaming, in many cases -- back into the bottomless trap hole where we simply await the day when the black widows come to suck the blood out of these rotted, empty husks we once called our bodies.
We are nothing. We were never anything. Therefore we find ourselves able to justify the creation of something if that's what keeps us entertained. No matter its crudeness, no matter its complexity. It could even be called a law of nature, if one chooses to believe in such things.
We are weak, yes. The subconscious mind tells us so. But there is always someone weaker. And in order to feel strong we gather like hungry wolves around the fallen corpses of our own brothers and sisters to wait until their very last breaths are squeezed from their lungs in desperate pleas for forgiveness. Forgiveness does not come. Only dinner is served.
The strong live in Heaven's good graces while ravenously feasting upon the remains of the fallen. Those who cannot crawl to the very top of the pile of bones leftover from the previous hunt are bound to become the next victims. Even then, as the laws of this barbaric tribe dictate, if a member of the family even so much as questions this primordial decree written in blood upon imaginary stone tablets thousands of years more ancient than the Old Testament there is but one consequence: they, too, are condemned to damnation; doomed to be devoured like those who came before them.
A fear older than the earth beneath out feet binds us to a
silent, unspoken reasoning, so no one speaks a word, even while screams for
mercy tear themselves from the throats of those who have been trampled for the
sake of someone else's betterment. Those cries of pain fall to deaf ears, for
no one will admit that they hear them. Everyone has a skeleton in their closet,
perhaps even more than just two or three others, but no one can bring
themselves to open the door to gaze upon their mistakes and learn from them.
And so the circle of life continues its vicious cycle. I believe that the reason we humans have no "natural predator" is simply because we were given a gift with which we destroy ourselves from the inside out. With such a pitiful species as this, who needs enemies?