When anger takes the place of fear,
The rational thoughts in reality are irresistibly intolerant, right?
The attempt to not hear the whispering voices,
Makes it so much harder to resist the temptation, right?
When life becomes barricaded with undoables,
To end it all so soon is unthinkable, right?
The obligation to keep on surviving,
Is quite bearable to people, right?
But why, with what state of mind do you have room to process such decisions?
Who are you, to yourself?
Are you so pleased by your own self doing, which therefore you have no regrets? You have no second sort of believing in the different time lines?
I've heard from, and told to, that the most joyful living persons in this floating blue ball of doom, are the ones who have the most acceptance with themselves, the ones who are content and undeniably happy with their self.
They found that pot at the end of the rainbow, they mined deep down to find that special feeling, they found something we all crave, wish for, and should have set as our goal.
They found the Gold.
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