Blackpill existential dread night poem

[the.oracle]

I am but only a trace of memory to my peers

the memory of a time when I still had anything to long for and blissful ignorance was blossoming through my eyes

now I am like a living gravestone

a totem for the projections of something that once existed, an object so others can still have remembrance

things are only real while you still haven’t figured out they are a lie

if you can see it, it means you no longer belong on the inside

to me there is no longer pleasure in the trivial and bodily things

does that mean I’ve transcended, or “ascended” from this mundane existence?

maybe my body is telling me it no longer derives the freshest “life” from this realm and it’s time to take a peak on the next one



it might be best to die while you’re still alive instead of having to live on when you’re already dead



a blackpill poem for this meaningless wednesday night, preceding by a few nights my upcoming 27-years anniversary

 

[MuddyBuddy]

things are only real while you still haven’t figured out they are a lie

This is really interesting. I'm 27 too and the older I grow the more I understand the true nature of the world. Conversely I begin to feel this has to be some a nightmare or a cruel simulation. It's hard to believe "real" life can be this stacked against me while others effortlessly skate by.

Or how life was just much better pre puberty when I didn't think about sex. Is a real life a happy one? If so the life I live now is more fake than anything I've experienced in childhood. That Innocence is what real happiness is.