Our Overthinking Into Fear

Our Overthinking Into Fear

Where do you go, what do you do, how do you do it?

This I cannot tell you, for we are complex in our overthinking. We bring in thoughts that hinder us, thoughts built upon pretenses. On things we have given life to from the curation of others. We build fears from observations or our quickly fading past. 

And as we live by these absurd fears, we only bring our demise early. We become a withering flower to the ever falling sun. Only to become a decayed skeletal of wasteful tears. 

And those mornings we wake in the arms of melancholy, or the strangling of our throats from the tedious hands of anxiety. We fondle our thoughts, ourselves, to the glutenous mouth of doubt. 

We worry for things that have yet to happen, or have already happened. We bring fear through fiction of what horrors we believe shall transpire. Rather than what beauty may result in the attempt to go beyond our fear.

And if we are such magnificent creatures, why so we so quickly design our own carnage. We are the conductors of our symphony, yet we treat them as if they are rubbish. A mere myth of our existence. And rather than tuning our instruments, learning with practice, with mistakes. 

We slaughter our musicians, and whom will want to be the audience of a massacre, of  a murderous hound of weakness? 

This life, I know it to be fickle in its ways. But much does it have to offer, but we must not be greedy in our pity, in our fears. We feed that which we think is us, and what we think, is too often a fish pulled from water. 

Hung from a hook in a helpless attempt to flounder about in escape. But we allow death before we die, we surrender the moment the hook sinks. And then we wallow in our pain as if it is another's fault. As if our foolish attraction to what is not us has killed us. Or that we are but what we are and no change is capable  

What a miserable existence we can give ourselves, and we only seem to be multiplying this narrative of thought. Hastefully taking the newest disorder we can scrounge up to explain our short comings. 

Yet, I see men whom have one limb and praise their days. Yet, I see a children on the path of death before the age of six, and they laugh more than you and I. 

What have we become in world where opportunity is only limited by our own thoughts. 

And so I say, be no more afraid of you. Be no more afraid of others, for they too, are struggling to find themselves in meaning.  

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