The Beauty in Destruction


You have been lied to. To be or not to be is not the question. You read this Shakespearean wisdom far before you ventured out of your comfort zone and it didn’t take you long to realize that it was exquisitely expressed bullshit.

You hate to admit it, but you were delusional. You liked to think you were walking out the door with a considerable degree of strength. In retrospect, that was cute. The first step out, was the first step down. But then again, do you really ever know what you’re getting into before it’s too late? You want to experience the world, see what it has to offer. But it swallowed you whole. The process of destruction is so beautifully crafted, it’s almost inviting. What comes out the other end is a ghost of naiveté, a few broken dreams and deep-rooted fears.

You know about self-destruction in its purest form. Been there, done that. But can you put a date on it? Can you put a time stamp on it? No. You tried, but it’s a blur. It’s like being trapped in a tornado slowly picking up pace. It’s just a soft breeze and before you know it, your entire world is lost in a vast, hellish wind. But your tornado doesn’t interest me much. It comes, it goes. We hide, it finds. One after the other, each one of us falls victim to it. But the chaotic silence this whirlwind leaves behind on the other hand, is tantalizing. How many of us make it back up and how many of us lay buried faceless under the rubble will be your lucky guess.

I’m not sadistic, but I took a keen interest in your destruction. There is a beauty in your destruction, did you know? Now your body is nothing more than a hollow cavity of flesh. Your mind has been numb since before the storm kicked in. You have no confidence, you have no patience. You haven’t existed in the present for a very long time now. You wake up on a rare morning with a misplaced sense of hope, it’s not going to last past breakfast, you know it. Most of the other days, you can continue laying in bed. You were nervous about something in the beginning. It’s a fully matured fear now. Your eyes, your words and your skin are giving away your elaborate fearfulness of nothing. You don’t even want to express in first person. You don’t even want to talk too loud. Everything that you believed to be true was a fragile lie, crashing on the concrete pavement in front of your eyes. You have nothing, you believe nothing, you are nothing. You need a cold glass of water, kid.

You’ve devalued your nothingness. It’s your greatest strength. Destruction is freedom from the ordinary, freedom from the past. Your hollowness is a clean slate. It’s your closest brush with rebirth. You can build that wasn’t, bury that wasn’t meant to be. You can say all that you needed to, you can find your iron courage. No mask is truly ever removed, but yours was burned. You have no choice but to bring your real face to the world. You feel naked, you took the shroud off your heart. Your pencil can finally touch the paper. Your thoughts are making a beeline for the exit. You got up, but there is brokenness as far as your eyes can see, there are consequences of yesterday chaining your feet to the ground. Your true freedom is a few more wounds away.

You break free. You wake from your sleep and feel your presence. You can finally have the sun warm your back. You can be what you were meant to be, and much more.

You have been lied to. To fear or not to fear, that is the question.

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