Blood in my eyes

We are all born, we all live, and we all die. We can try to avoid our final hour, but even the strongest of us crumbles in time. The sweet song of the spring robins will eventually turn into the macabre tones of an organ for us all. We are only born to die.

Through the millennia, man has asked himself, "What of my existence? Why am I here?"

The answer has been here all along - nothing. We don't have any purpose, nor does anything else here in our wretched, scarred world. Each hour, we decay until we succumb to life's twisted game.

Religion only pacifies and provides comfort to those who cannot accept their doom without it. Most everything we know of in this fragile reality of ours is an invention of our ancestors. We built our world, and not a piece of it will matter in the future. If we vanished this moment, it would only take ten-thousand years to wipe our progress clean. We are supposedly the epitome of evolutionary success, the product of time and primates, yet it would take only ten-thousand years to wipe us out completely.

I don't care a thing about this world, for my heart is dead and decayed inside, as is yours, dear reader. Never forget: you will die. You do not know when, nor does anyone else. Embrace your fall from grace with a smile.

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