I pity those that haven't been killed by the icy tentacles of this demon we know and recognize as love.
Love is a great big bowl of emotion, that gets us on a creative high that would make LSD pale in comparison. Love gets us to accumulate incredible amounts of endurance and strength, Yet.
Yet, at the very time same, knocks us flat. For years after we've killed the demon, his remains haunt us.
Crippling us to understand and realize. Crippling to think and breath.
Crippling breath itself.
Romance dies, giving rise to the half mutilated zombie of romantic depression.
It robs us of the essence of what makes us alive, leaving us submerged in an ocean of our own unintelligible waste.
Yet, all these experiences are what makes us necessarily, us.
Do we mean to now retroactively change what we've become? This will necessitate us reverting to an earlier person, much like we roll back an operating system to an earlier state of being.
Through all the heartbreaks and depressions, we've actually quite graphically moulded out personality to accordingly suit us.
Now we live as damaged people, in the world of the underground. Far from the eyes of society. The society that fools themselves about their happiness anyway.
Yes, we're the lucky few. The ones lucky enough to be 'chosen' by the demon love. We fuck up our subsequent relationships, we taste bitterness in life itself and every breath we take is sulfurous, but on the upside, hey, we're creative geniuses. Some of us anyway..
We can only hope that when the next 'right person' or the 'right now person' comes along, we've recovered enough to even try. And in the eventuality of it working out, for you to sustain something without your demons unveiling themselves at the most inopportune times.
Blessed are the innocent who never feel love, for theirs is the kingdom of 'real' free thought.
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