Living.

The life we live. We live each day to bleed. We are bound with chains we do not understand, chains some of us choose to ignore and pretend does not exist. Life and time has us bound. Our future is not ours to look forward to. Life’s our slave master, exploits us of everything. Sweat. Tears. Emotions. We try to create a mirage, a form of happiness to hope for tomorrow. Something that keeps smiles plastered on our faces. But then our reality never forgets to slap in the face, long and hard, so we remember and do not forget. Who we are, what we have become, where we are going to. This road, this journey laced with blood and tears, is the life we live. Sometimes we understand and ask questions. What is life when we only live to die? But then we cannot talk of freedom when it is not ours to have. Some of us only exist, become numb, wait for the days to go by thinking it’s a form of escape but they even hurt all the more. Emptiness bring loneliness, loneliness brings desperation and desperation, madness. I have sought for an understanding  of this riddle, seeking a form of solace, but it seems far away like that dream that’s  too good to be true. Some of us have lost faith to believe in hope, we wander around like displaced persons seeking comfort from other places. We embrace the darkness, the sadness so as to conquer it. We fall in love with getting hurt, have orgasms to the piercing pain that frequents our already worn out hearts. We teach ourselves to make love to the hardness and cruelty of this life. Perhaps some good will come out of it. Somehow we would get used to the pain so it doesn’t hurt anymore. Somehow living would become bearable. Somehow the sun will shine through the storm on the carcass that would have become of our hearts. Somehow we would be free spirits that would soar in the highest of skies and the ocean of the Atlantic. Perhaps such a time would come. Perhaps not. We still wait and bleed some more.