My death will not be the way I wanted it to be. There will be no heroics, passion, or bravery. My name will not go down in the history books. I wanted to live a life full of love and creativity, but I am dying before my time. I will be forgotten. I wish I wasn't too far gone; that someone has chosen to save me. But ignorance is bliss. You have made me bitter. It shouldn't have been a choice for you, you should have done what needed to be done. Aside from a comfort to you I am nothing, made clear by your constant abuse.
I fought for years, I tried to scare you away. Threatening you with a hellfire no one could have survived. But still, your apathy is astounding. Your heads were not in the clouds they were consumed by hate and rage and blood wars over a faith you believed governed the torture and genocide of millions. Here I watched, my skin saturated with the blood and tears of those who didn't deserve to die. If wars are humanity's greatest failures, then humanity failed eons ago.
You were warned by those who became knowledgeable to the consequences of your grandeur. You wished for a greater life and ignored death knocking at your door, its bony knuckles reverberating through ears refusing to hear. Why? Was it a lack of compassion for those who would follow? The generations who would die because you spared them no thought. How dare you. Who do you think you are? Up there on your mighty stallion of conceitedness, entitled to the point you'd believe no one would refuse you.
What about those who cared? Who had a passion for saving those who needed saving. Lunatics. That's what you called them, basing your own self worth off the unhappiness of others. It's correct. That saying; Money doesn't buy happiness. It lulls you into a false sense of security, it changes people. Warping the minds of those who truly understood their purpose. So now, here I am, a dying Earth. The fumes of your luxuries choking me to death.
Text copyright © Stephwriteabook_™ 2018
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