Playing with fire

My idealistic reflexes crave for the adrenaline rush, thrill, and adventure which I derive from breaking free from constraint, without having to be accountable for my well-being. It however contradicts the realistic part of me (yes existent, albeit of minimal amount) which frets the consequences of irresponsibility and the stakes on hold for these wreckless actions – being wrecked. Wasted, broken and torn apart. In keeping my sanity, a medium is required to tie me up: such that just before my soul escapes in that split second, it is contained within.
Subconsciously, I know I want it bad. Living a life of frivolity, living each moment.
But if you were a bird locked up in a cage, the last thing you’d want is to die in a full force attempt to break through the metal walls that drive you mad, despite knowing it isn’t going to come down however hard you hit it.
Life, what a wired (and weird, if you prefer) mess.


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