Loving dolls.

Today I felt the need to look into my own mental computer and search for my past.
I see myself through pictures, every year i changed, i still change every second.
I cannot go back, I can only remember.
Every picture, brings me memories from a certain time. Everything I do has a reason to be.
While going to Paramus Park, I decided to relax in the car a read a book.
The book's name is "Ishmael" by Daniel Quinn.
I turned on my radio and started listening to "Arcade Fire-No cars go."
I turned to page 6 of the book and found something I have felt, and something that happens to everyone at least one time during their life-span.
And here it goes:
"You've been in love with someone for a decade-someone who barely knows you're alive. You've done everything, tried everything to make this person see that you're a valuable, estimable person, and that your love is worth something. Then one day you open up the paper and glance at the Personals column, and there you see that your loved one has placed an ad... seeking someone worthwhile to love and be loved by."

Oh... Isn't it great to see a person's experience?
We go through stages in life, we burn them and toss them, what is worth it we recycle it.
However, they are still there, we just remember the good stuff, only the good stuff.
I came to the conclusion that loving dolls is easier than loving blood.
Dolls are beautiful, they don't talk, they don't feel...
But our minds can make them talk, our minds can make them feel cold during winter nights, our stupid minds make them miss us.
Is it so hard to find love that we need to turn to computers or love books to satisfy us?
Porn instead of sensitive body, toys instead of a blood circulating genital?
Yes, i'm disgusting, my words are disgusting, but words and the dictionary are a human creation.
And remember... 1 human represents all of us.
So we are all disgusting.

Humanity's coffin.

People change like seasons.
One day a smile with a hug.
The next day they cut you with glass.
You bleed, then heal, then bleed.
Until no more blood is left in your sadistic veins.

People cry like tsunamis.
They take with them everything.
They kill who they want and leave them to rot.
Their decaying body searching for death when is already carcass.
Destroying with tears the petals of their hearts.

People get scared like rats.
When an attack of an intruder rises, they run into every hole.
Searching for an exit, searching for the tiniest sight of life.
Unless they have a gun, if they do, they are "powerful".

In the end, a human without a weapon isn't a human.
We are simply a weak, ignorant, piece of space.
No matter where we run or hide we kill.
With every step we make, and every time we breathe.
One human represents all of us.
However, we try so hard to have a little bit of uniqueness.
When we don't have it at all.