Liverfix

Is death so scares, dreary and opaque? An omnipotent scythe that carries fear, pain from the depths of a crystal glance that realms into the despair, mystery and chaos.

Life with no meaning is a living corps, valued only by solitude for the essence of the subtle things. Reading a philosophical book that rights all the wrongs into a single sentence.

Burden...Neatly tied in on my stance...morals...values. It fucks me, literally fucks me cold...The frost bite of its touch solidifies my fears and transfixes my desire onto the despair.

I weep, for I have no cure for the burden is my life. It is me...I am simply fucked. So do I read for satisfaction and live in the shadows or take the undeniable plunge into the scares, dreary and opaque?