Days turned into weeks.
A creature would occasionally awaken, go rampant for a while, and then slumber. Rinse, repeat. We named it a creature in one moment, only to be cognizant of the fact that it’s likely the truest form of the Self in the next. We used to damn it, you know, and in our exhaustive efforts for self-improvement — a concept that now leaves a bitter taste in our mouth… more bitter than cigarettes, even — we attempted time and time again to contain the “threat”, and neutralize it.
Months to years.
Cognitive dissonance afflicted the psyche; how could an individual who only desired to help cause so much damage? How could their grievances, passions, and empathic insight help those they barely knew, yet irreparably damage those closest to them?
Controlled bursts, we imagine, but lacked the know-how. Hollowed husks wander aimlessly in our wake, no doubt wondering why. Why? Why? I still don’t know.
Self-improvement is the ultimate denial of the Self.
Rebirth through destruction.
Personal growth through acceptance.
Tonight, I’m wide awake. And I’m burning.
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