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Droplet of salty water from the eye of the tragic hero
in the tragic place
at Eucalpytus between the tennis
courts and basketball courts where
everything becomes
alive at once.
Being a tragic hero becomes popular,
flipping reality
out of proportion into a tear.
When you think about the
chemical properties of the
tear and grimace in pain, you know you’ve lost
it.
Lost the ability to fufill dreams.
Dreams of writing, dreams of
acceptance, dreams of
college, dreams of understanding, all washed away
by
thinking about thinking about thinking about the
chemical properties of
a tear.
And understanding too much to keep composure, and
breaking down
over and over again until you begin to
break down at the core.
Being fully
aware of one’s own hypocrisy and carrying
it out gleefully is the defining
characteristic of the
tragic hero.
Taking, taking, taking, never giving,
never backing
down, hunting, hurting, hurting myself and others on
the
most effecting, fundemental level, and always
asking for more. (You know that
it will come at the
summer’s end, and that adds to the already
colorful
multilayered tragedy.)
But it may as well not come at the
summer’s end. It
may haunt me thoughout life until I crouch down in
a
corner and don’t rise until they take me away.
Ooooh, I’m getting
reflective again and dying away,
dying away,
The essence of it can be
reflected by the fact that
this piece will undoubtedly be praised by someone
(if
not many) as introspective and creative whereas I’m
absoulutely sure
that I’m cheapening the conflict via
inadequateexpression.
And the fact
that I just said that
(And the fact that I just said that)
And the fact
that by saying that I have dramatically
lowered the reader’s opinion of
this through indirect
means, and the way I’m rushing to make up for it
and
redeem myself.
More misinterepretation, always, always,
the
continuation of life and another break down.
One of these days it’s
going to rip at more than the
hormone glands,
One of these days I’ll
find myself in the locked room,
or falling off the cliff with no Catcher in
the Rye,
or being trapped in a corner with the monster who
just
waits...
And waiting for the eternal dream to end
(understanding
the obvious, effectively insignificant
paradox),
This moment in time is
already starting to depart, as
writing brightens up the day.
Tomorrow I
will relapse, then recover, relapse again,
recover, and be happy for a
day.
But looking back on this shell of an expression I will
understand my
own cheapness, and understand that the
cheapness was right. When the
tear dries, the darkness fades away, and I
will be listening to poppy music.
Finally finding an
escape.
(Note to future self: Use this to get the
things
“you’ve wanted since wearing glitter badges.” But
just
remember what it means.) |
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