Cryptic Thinking

Do not foretell death as the villain of this story. For the lies we tell, and the hatred we give are the monsters that dictate our mournful tale. Our deceitful actions, paired with our sinful way are demons fanning the flames of our combusting society. We ourselves are building the walls of our cells, yet we continue to blame others out of mistrust. We watch as our world burns and refuse to take blame. Perhaps we are scared of the justices that will fall upon us in our final moments. Terrified that our choices will damn us for eternity. So in turn we blame each other, we blame death, even our gods. For what is assigning blame except being to afraid accept fault? What is hatred other than finding fear in the flaws we ourselves hold? What is crime other than a damning release of emotions to paralyzing to work through? How do we, as human as we are, ascend to the holiness they expect. When we are just mere children in their eyes? I fear that if I find the answers to the questions that plague my mind, that I might also find the answers to the questions I dare not ask. The questions that crawl up my spine and whisper in my ears. The questions from death himself. The questions that leave holes in my chest and gaps in my memory. Questions that could bring repercussions that would shatter the specks of peace our gods has granted. Questions with answers so deadly, I fear the end of me as they form in my mind