Sunday, January 5, 2014

Sui Caedere

“But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself.”
Albert Camus


He walked through unconsciousness and never 
believed in fate, of faith, and of fait that providence
is nothing and devoid of meaning. He have stiffen
admission of truth, of realities, and the corollary promise
of hope and tenderness of the days ahead. He failed.
He stumbled. And he rolled through the open pit dirtying
his soul deliberately so that he cannot be cleansed
forever. He devoured the aroma of the filthy waters and
the fragrance of the stinky sludge that the pit has gladly offered.
He stopped dreaming. He ceased believing. He bore
to death and intended not to be awakened
anymore until the rain soaked him with water
seemingly consecrated with hope.
A hope, however it is in form or substance, he considered
the downpour in anticipation of hope.
Void hope. Suffice it to say that heavens do bestow false hope.
For the second time he died. Along with him, his premeditated
intent to slay himself perpetually. But he cannot. He certainly
did not. He was breathing endlessly and no matter
how he held his breath, holes of air intake constantly come into aid like it was destined eternally


that he cannot die; that he shall breath forever; that he shall live under the
authority of heavens whom he shall only entrust his life.