Kill the gods that tell us 'no'

Consume knowledge

Retract your words, and make them new

There is no sense anywhere, it is only manufactured by brains yearning for meaning, for immortality

Your death means nothing

Your life means nothing

Good or bad, it means nothing

Your own flesh under your fingers turns black as it decays

God taught us how to be silver and cold, but our tears are red, and our desires are too

We are too large to be contained

We are specks of dust in a universe that cares not about itself

Fold unto yourself and see that your intestines have long left your body

And your heart has long stopped beating

And you are still living through the power

Of something or else

We are not a special kind for the universe does not recognise special

And yet it seems like our souls sparkle in the dark, like there is something there

Or perhaps our own flaws make us glittery, cracked

Is it our flaws or our goodness that makes us this great?

Is there an answer to anything to be found in the haystack,

Or are we just looking with dry hands, cracked skin, and bleeding mouths?

Filling this existence with ourselves

Even though we are the most impermanent, the least resistant to change

Reverse meaning:

Pain is good

Suffering is desirable

Hurt others, hurt yourself

Love has been dead for a millennium

God watches over with black eyes and a hole for a mouth

(and a heart) (no heart)

The chills creeping down your spine aren't your creation

There perhaps is someone behind you

The brain likes to play tricks

Tell us things

Reverse it all

Who said we should be selfless? Loving. Why should we put others before ourselves? Why should we care?

Give me a reason that I cannot refute with a 'but why'

-

We are curious creatures

But we only get to see ourselves through ourselves

So we will never truly really learn nor understand

There perhaps is something out there, that created us, but that thing may be dead and cold, matter, dead matter, no God.

Or emptiness.

But amongst all of this '?' we have made our home, as shaky and unstable as it is

As filled with blood and sorrow and laughter as it is

Our home will be ruins one day

And the ruins will be ashes one day

But

We are trying our best

Even in our worst ways

We know so little that we should be afraid of ourselves and what surrounds us

But we are here

And here is all that matters

or perphas not

meaning is arbitrary,

and so is purpose

after all, everything was cold in the beginning

( )