Paralyzed

We're paralyzed. The road is traced, centimeter by millimeter and yet we're unmoved. The distance seems too far. The steps seem too many. We're bound to trip on at least one. It is better to just stand and stare at them. We cannot move, our knees might get scraped. We cannot fall, our egos will turn purple. We cannot attempt, the results do not offer a 100% money back guarantee. We need a 2 year warranty before we can move forward. The snapshots of the 800 dollar camera aren't as sweet without a 2 year plan. This picture is worth no more than a grocery bag if the next isn't promised a timely delivery in my lens. I refuse to take pictures. There is a chance my camera will break and there will be no more. I'd rather stare at the lens and picture taking pictures, after all, my mind has no limit on gigabytes. I'm set for life, but what's the point if I've been long dead? What is the point of my legs if all they're good for is standing still? What good are my eyes if their sites provide no motivation of movement? Stairs are not for aesthetic pleasure; they're made to be climbed. Mountains are not built to block sunlight; they're made to be moved. Time is not a bird. It need not fly by aimlessly. It is a rooster, a constant reminder that the sun rises each morning and to not live sedated by drowsy dreams and hollow hopes. The rooster is there to awaken you; to act as a daily nuisance to your comfortable state of life.

Your cozy bed will never keep you warm at night, so quit pulling up the covers. It is foolish to shut your eyes to well-pronounced light and if you dare to, the fire-red inside your eyelids will warn you of the danger. Beware and understand the idiocy of living behind the 8 ball. My sources say no. It is necessary to make mistakes. It means you missed a take. It does not imply it was the only take, nor does it assure us the next one will be missed. No mourning is necessary. No amount of regret is called for. Sometimes we need to cut into the peach to wipe out the chance of eating any worms. Our teeth may wind up dirty. Just wipe it off. Don't make faces of disgust for more than a few seconds. No diary entry is needed to even remember the incident. All need be known is not to eat that peach and if by any chance you do, some mild recovery time may be necessary but funeral arrangements need not be made.

Don't live with one foot inside your grave. Never purchase a grave-site if there is still one ounce of living breath in you. Grant that pleasure to the living, after all, it is no threat to your life-span capacity to carry the burden of another's death, but to carry the burden of your own is similar to the evolution of HIV to AIDS. Let them choose the coffin. Make no worry, they'll choose one that fits. Use the funds for your final resting place on a final vacation instead, even if the doctors give you two weeks to unite and make one with the soil. Now, even those worms underground can't kill you. They'll cast revenge on your carcass for eating their brother sleeping cozy in that peach, but what gives at that point anyway? Just remember that any worm you ever encounter is no threat. Nothing is a threat. Anything isn't a threat. Everything is no threat. Standing still is a threat.

We're all going to taste dirt at some point in our lives, but no need to bury yourself alive in it. The dead do a great job at laying flat on their backs while everyone walks over them. Leave that fine job to them. You'll be there at some point, no worries. There will eventually be a time where you will have no alarm clock to awaken you. Where that snooze button will no longer withstand constant slapping. Where there is no dreadful thought of waking up at the birth of dawn. When no matter how strong the vocal cords of that rooster, it will never wake you from your 3x7 box. There will be no light inside. No need to pull up the covers to fight the well-pronounced light. You will eventually fess up to all that sleep debt accounts payable keeps calling for. You can stay still at your leisure. There will be no need to take chances. No need to rely on luck and uneducated answers. That magic 8 ball needed a rest anyway. Maybe the rooster can play with it. There will be no ramifications of trying, you'd be paralyzed from the slightest attempt, but it's not as if you did anything about it when your legs could move, so why are you complaining now? Oh, because of the blood clots. They were long there before you sunk underground. Don't sweat it. Your eyes were long shut before the final closing. You shot yourself in the leg enough times to break down a dinosaur so why are you so surprised that you're paralyzed? Failure is not an option now, but for that reason, so is no amount of success. You refused to go forward because the lazy-boy was far too enticing but now all it has to remember you by is the print of your rear. You've left no other impression on anyone besides that.

It is important to walk when blood is circulating in your legs. It is important to accept light in your eyes with arms wide open. It is important to accept the rooster as a reminder to wake up, and not disqualify it as a gnat on your nose, aiming to destroy your comfort. Allow the worm in sometimes as well. You'll better appreciate the fresh peaches after tasted the foul ones. This way you will live. This way both feet are steady placed above ground safely with no danger of one falling in. This way you can taste with your entire tongue and feel with your entire palm. It is okay to prick a finger sometimes. There is no harm from a little harm. Even when feeling a bruised ego, it is a reminder you're alive. Only when you move whist alive will you ever comfortably lay when you're dead. Only then will you rest in peace