A mosquito is born, a human is born.
Both destined to die.
The mosquito does not know this.
Mosquitos will never think on it,
no concept of prevention.
The insect will just do its blood thing and die.
That is the difference between the two.
The human seldom thinks of death.
Eventually, the human accepts reality.
When he does, he doesn’t want to die.
He is against dying but realizes
it’s a futile thought, a deceptive myth,
numbs himself with myriad palliatives—
an apothecary shelf of addictions.
Why do humans, who know they will die,
devise so many ways to kill each other?
The mosquito might give you a better answer.
Originally published in Synchronized Chaos