Birth by Noragotcharisma

The first screams of life echo throughout the earth. The fear of these new surroundings takes its toll and we always fear the unknown. But we quickly adapted, moved on from that moment of ultimate terror. 

 

Our egos soon were built on the pleasure of our arrivals. Fed with love and attention, we grow accustomed to this throne, this birth of pride.

 

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Time went on, our thrones were yanked from under us, and we no longer occupy the highest level of importance. Other matters began to overshadow our extravagance. With the death of power comes the birth of envy.

 

 

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Adjusting, we begin to take interest in the opposite. Thoughts of bodies of strength, masculinity, eminent ecstasy. Visions of softness, grace, and beauty pour into pools of desire. As our minds drown in sin, we drown in the birth of lust.

 

 

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Dragged into a state of euphoria, indulgence of bodily loss of control transforms itself into addiction. We crave the warmth of another’s touch, hours wasted skin to skin. Prayers no longer seem to do us any good, faith is lost—the birth of sloth.

 

 

*                               *                             *

 

 

Frustration. Clenched fists, we try to regroup. Attempt to find ourselves again. Try to find God. Rage fills our veins; comprehension of our youth has slipped through our fingers won’t come easily. Obsessed with revenge, the birth of wrath.

 

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Disturbed by the void of time, we grow discouraged. As the calendar squares are crossed, as our birth years grow farther away, we trick ourselves into wanting more. We pave our future with materialistic possessions, enslaved to the birth of greed.

 

*                               *                             *

Life has come and is about to leave us. This wave of hopelessness and apathy engulfs our thoughts and orchestrates our every move. We want more but we don’t need more. We wish to leave this earth with a feast fit for a king, striving on the birth of gluttony.

 

 

Our enemy is our thoughts. The final breaths of life gracefully take our goodbyes, but we depart for the last time after seven births.

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