Time refuses to kill me, therefore I am forced to kill “Time.”
“The meaning of life,” is a phrase that is almost as pompous as the person who insist on poisoning our ears with it, just as “love and hate” are so arbitrary in verbal form that they lack pure passion and desire…
If there is this “GOD” that you speak of, I will not beg his forgiveness for my disbelief in him…
“I will not seek his postmortem plan for my almost unholy existence…”
Instead, I will look upon him with the distant stare that he created, and let him beg “my” forgiveness for my creation.
“I neither want or need an explanation, I only require the admittance of imperfection that even I, myself find emotionally fatal.”
“And in this, I may taste “inner peace,” for a brief second, but where would I go from there?”
“The grasp of such events are infinitly inconceivable.”
“Never must we attempt to comprehend certain things, should we value our sanity.”
“Never must I seek this “inner peace” that I speak of, for it is far beyond the uncrossable line where I hold the self peace that plays a stranger to me still, against the Death of this world that I sometimes wish that I did not hold so dear.”
“I would rather spit into the face of Heaven, than let my brothers bleed alone in Hell.”
“I would harbor no regret…”