A bleeding heart is as much a sign of life as it is a sign of destruction.
These may not be complete antagonists, for you could live destroyed. But
then, you are just a flick away from death. So there is almost satisfying
proximity in their oppositeness. In that moment when your whole world is
plunged into darkness, be grateful, even in a fraction of a second, that
you notice this because you could see. When your tears burn like fresh lava
digging trenches down your face as they curve their own path, brave the
pain because it is a sign that there is still life left in you. Of course,
in the aftermath of such disaster, you might wake up to find yourself on
the other side of emotion, the dead side. And indeed, most times this is
often the case but fail not to realise, in your moment of undoing that
there is still life you can cling on. There still remains that proverbial
hanging straw suspended above the floods of destruction that could save the
little life within you. Left in you. Refuse to give up because this other
side, this other side sucks man.

I remember the day I died. Actually, no. Scratch that. I do not remember
the day I died. It is all hazy and smoky like the clouds of misery around
my feet. What I can remember, is waking up and failing to see the radiant
sun knocking at my window. What is forever etched in my mind like claw
marks from a night-wolf is the nothingness I felt when I looked into her
eyes as she rested beside my chest staring back, searching, and hoping to
find. It was the day Bring me the Horizon’s Sleepwalking could not edge
into and under my skin to send shivers down my throat to my stomach. It was
like an alcoholic who realise he’d lost the taste of wine. Free from the
clutches of the glass but unable to function without its rugged motivation.
The morning passed and so did the day, the days and weeks, as scattering
clouds do, and I just kept drifting away.

My dear, they say mind your thoughts, because you are what you think. To
this I say no. You are what you feel. For if you were what you thought,
then I still would be something. A hideous monster perhaps; a damaged
sailor maybe. I would not settle for a sick pervert just because my mind
tends to wander and explore unchartered, unconventional and tabooed
territories like that robot we sent up to mars. You are what you feel.
Those fits of rage that overcome you at times make who you are, whether you
like it or not. The jealousy that consumes you; the hatred that begot you
all come together inside you to fuse with the love you have for your
mother; the happiness you get from a friend’s smile and the empathy that
the homeless suck out of you to make you the perfect complete set of bones,
flesh, blood and soul that you carry around proudly (or not). Feel, while
you still can. Do not be scared of the new and threatening emotions that
sometimes ambush you when you are all alone. Do not fight it. Give in and
see just how much your body can absorb without changing a bit of who you
are deep inside. Feel while you still can, because someday, you just might
die and cross over to this dry wasteland.

Heartily yours,


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