Destroyer of Pleasures

I have been obesessing about death lately, and not in the I-will-slit-my-wrist manner. Not that I am depressed either but rather the reality there will come a day when I WILL cease to exist and all that will remain are words through which my existence will be remembered by and that shit keeps me up at night *nervously laughs*.

All around us death is the rather large elephant in the room we choose to ignore. Often brushed under the carpet or whispered about in a hushed tone as to not attract attention. 

So essentially, all our dreadful "I'm not good enough", our worries, thoughts, beliefs and regrets, all our desires and goals, our aspirations, the things that we wake up early in the morning for, are as temporary as our existence, because you guessed right, we will die. If we have something in common, it is that. Nature will take its course and what is decreed will happen. Some of us will grow frail and old with eyes that light up whenever we speak of our past. While some will be ''gone too young''.

Remeber often the destroyer of pleasure.