The Big, Bad Wolf

A simple breeze of a moment has caused me to come to grips with a cruel realization today. Lingering within the midst of just a blip on the screen, a small black cat managed to idly escape past a pair of two screen doors. Quietly during the day, followed by thundering hoof beats down the stairs to retrieve the wandering feline. But what I'm left here to wonder is why one would feel such an inclination to face the big, bad world. We are cornered, and left to drown among whatever has happened to wash up on shore. Many a brave soul conjure up the stupidity to brave the outside world, and end up with mouthfuls of deception, and a shuddering dose of reality. We are bred to die, and the most eventful thing to happen to most of us is the inching forward in the line to the slaughterhouse. Why leave the comfort of the blanketed dark, when all that's left outwards is a horizon of pain and misery? Much like the faded days of blessed ignorance of childhood, lock your doors because here comes the big, bad wolf to huff, and to puff, and to blow us all down.
The winds are high, and hungrily; will tear about your withered and pathetic carcass, or for us blissfully insane; whatever just so happens to be left.