Cynical Minds.

Ever think about what it means to grow up?

It’s a nebulous concept. Has the old man grown up? If you can’t answer that ambiguous question with certainty, then we know it’s not about age. To “grow up”, one must “act their age”. I reject this cyclical foundry of cynical transgression.

The internet has assuaged our thirst for stimulus. At a drop per minute, we’ve forgotten what it’s like to drink a full glass. Our tongue dries along the perimeter and we long for something more, but the assurance of dimming servitude maintains a jet stream of laughs; and yet our smiles grow dim.

As each day grows shorter, so too do our lives. Diminishing hall of memories. Infinite exists far past the eye/I can see. We look deep within ourselves and try to find a comforting way to exist. All that can be said is that age is new. The old is fresh and young is the experience of the now.

Cyclical thoughts permeate through magenta colored eyes as she asks herself who she is. We all ask the question, but do animals?

Sweet lullaby passerby. The world is a beautiful dismissal of life. The giver and the taker. To be channeled in memories. To be enjoyed in the present. To mitigate cynicism. To reminisce. To objectify feeling. To live.

A hard beginning that leads to smooth sailing is certainly appreciable but the adverse opposite is true to few.

So then, it takes will to live appreciably.

Those who grow up affluent in nature and reserve must grow strong in will if they are to maintain a positive outlook in life.

The same is true for wild animals raised in captivity and released into the wild. All that we can expect is that it will happen to us sometime in the future.

So you must prepare your will for the worst.

Cyclical Cynicism. Lady Luck. The juxt! Being that you gamble beside us, you sour your face at the house edge and grew bitter at the thought of…

The harbinger of death. The creator; The mother/The Father.

The Taker.

The Earth. Librarian of seeds.

Depression. Burrow inside your thoughts. Wear the mask of languish. Live in your imagination. Let it swallow you. Let it surround you and block out all light. Absolute darkness sitting against the morning sun. Let the small joy you feel from the chemical processing within you, light the walls of cynicism inside. Read the markings put there by who you had been. Come out when you’re ready. A new form. A witness to the past. Growing towards the sun, dreaming to feel well again.

Relinquish yourself from the roots that bind. Feel yourself rising. To be or not to be, that is the question.

A fallacy unknown. The question still remains…

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