The world is schizophrenic madness. Lives are brutally short. Cut even shorter often by your own doing. Other’s doing. Neuroticism is rampant. It’s to be expected. People just find escape. Delusion.
You will die. That should scare any sane individual.
Eventually the fright fades. It faded once. Yet, now it’s back. Growing each day. Stronger and refined.
I write as an escape. A way for thoughts to leave me alone.
They’ve passed their climax. They can fade now. Into new thoughts and worries. Thoughts and thoughts pass, lives and lives pass. I don’t think I’ll ever get constant peace. Not while I live at least. Or even after. Ever. The world itself is schizophrenic.