Tuesday, 26 March 2013

Psycho killer

     A day, a week, a month, a year, a decade passes by and finally- it all ends.
     Does it really matter if that's been a week or a decade? Does it change anything? It doesn't- there's an end to everything and there's a pretty big probability that there doesn't even exist a something after the end.
     We kill our days with doubts, regrets, self-destruction, useless pain until there's left nothing worth killing.
     I kill the days, the weeks, the months, the years and maybe the decades because there are dimples worth seeing, because there are holding hands worth admiring and there are glances worth being felt.
     We're all psycho killers because we kill feelings, dreams and hopes every day. 
     We believe that we kill something because it's the right thing to do, but the murderers believe the same thing. Why are we better than the murderers?
     They all know that the biggest sin is the suicide- what about murdering our own feelings, dreams and hopes? Isn't it a suicide too?
      And who's the psycho killer after all- the guy who makes audiences because he's responsible of one massacre or you- the one responsible for mass slaughters of dreams, hopes, feelings and the one who commits suicides every day of his living?

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