digibutter.nerr

[Popple]

Apparently my teacher thought I plagiarized this at first. I didn't think it was that good, because like most writing projects I do them the night before in about an hour because I can get away with it. Every time. Some may call it misusing my literary talents, I call it not wasting time doing bullshit school assignments that are never going to amount to anything. Here it is anyway though, I kind of want opinions now.

“Curtain”

Often, we do not realize the noose is tied round our necks until we are falling into the arms of Death.

Not until we are beginning to plummet do we realize how long we have been standing on the trap door.

We have had the power to observe ourselves all our lives; it is just in death that we gain the insight of reflection.

So why do we do it?

We wile away the hours, marching through time as though it is an endless dream.

As if Death is but another fairy tale.

It always looms in front of us, waiting for the inevitable to arrive.

One dies simply from living, yet knowing this we constantly bring ourselves closer to an early doom without a second thought.

Like rats in a maze we ignore all obstacles, no matter how dangerous they may be, seeking only to reap our rewards.

So why do we do it?

Why do we wistfully let our lives fly by, leaving caution to veil in the back of our minds?

Why do we let that precious sand slip through our fingers as though it is nothing but a coarse refuse?

We do this, because it gives us validation.

It is within our ability to determine the unknown, yet we impede ourselves.

We see time as a stream, not because it outside of our power to do otherwise, but because without it we have no reason to live.

Without that constant variable, without the unknown, our lives quickly lose context.

To know all is to perceive the experience of life as a cage, to see it merely as a vehicle for reaching the End.

Without that connotation, without the constant mystery of what lies before us, we are damned to an existence of pleading with false deities in a futile effort to extend our being.

We come into a viscous cycle of fearing the one thing that cannot be avoided.

It is in this state that we lose all hope; we lose our grasp on humanity.

What good are emotional possessions should they be swept away at our curtain fall?

We do it, because without the variability the word “Life” loses all definition.

We do it, because without the Cliffhanger, we only see the end.

We only see Death.

In short.

Life was Meant to be full of surprises.