Growth The Wrong Way

We listen, to every lie they tell us. We aren’t ones to become anything but what they tell us. Longing, searching for someone to take away our fears, only because someone added the earworm of love. 

A worm, what a fascinating idea, burrows deep beneath your cranium to hate everything you are, from some uninteresting notion of what someone else has said. Long before this, where were our own thoughts? We are not anyone else without the other in our life. Even without one beating heart to wrap your senses around, you long for it or do the things we don’t realize others are buried upon up. Nothing is our own, nothing at all. Our personal epiphanies come from other’s ideas first, where do you think the things you know come from? Where do we believe the things that don’t realize they are thoughts, go? Opinions are our thoughts of easy-breezy nothingness. The nothingness of our own hearts, beating veins in our body’s personal reflection. Birthing another in our image is what seems to be all we want. Some say that the idea that we don’t really think about the long-term situation come nevermore to the end of everything. Growth in the wrong direction, our highway has been stopped, consumed but the only thing that can penetrate the cranium, the thoughts of the others… Those thoughts are the creation of another, the long line of “telephone” from our ancestors that has no breath. Our perpetual motion of advancement only comes from what came before us and what came from before that. How do we connect our dots together without our own release of nothingness? The blackness of nothing, so comforting. Better than the alternative of only being everyone else. We are all the same, no matter what we think. No one is unique, no one is anything but what came before. We must have always been. How do we concluded the nothingness that is so peaceful, the nothingness that must come when we are no longer in this perpetual decree of others.

What if growth, the right way, away from others from ideas of others, the one before and before. The nothingness of blackness wouldn’t we be in a better place, gone from the nothing and be something? 

And again these thoughts plague my days, never letting me rest.

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