Writings

                   This Stage

This stage is a rage of hate and burning sensation that is neither here nor there, like a stair to where, you might ask. These questions we ask with persistence throughout our puny existence. We surround ourselves with this thing called life but the minute we need to know more, we cut with our hearts the night and bless this thing called light. Players in a game we want say that we are all sane and don’t do the same as others in this nasty lying game. The show is on even if we aren’t here that’s why even shedding a tear is a waste of time which we coincidently created to measure our end so that we can pretend without knowing what it’s really about. This stage is in fact a cage made with minimum wage down at the bookstore where we learn that the writers who put pen to the page are even more fake than the fantasy they make. The making of this world we don’t really know thus science sets the stage with fake makings of what will be played. Actually we will all be played at least once. This stage the world is living and all advances trying to kill us, thus, we have taken all from it from shit to more shit a joke not seen unless you are amongst the faithless. Life without this stage would be like food tasting tasteless like fantasy without fakeness like life without living without all the giving and receiving, like blood not bleeding when cut damaged in fear waiting for your exit out of here. Egats siht upside down and inside out the meaning is meaningless unless this stage is where your reality meets and destiny parts on darker even darker seas hopefully bringing you to your knees, but if you presevere you can find the keys and do away with the pains. This stage is fake but watch out without it you would have never been made but through your eyes it will sooner or later fade.