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| <<<>>> |
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Tragic People |
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| Created by Decius at
| [+ favourites]
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There's always an excuse. Massive, massive amounts of energy, focussed energy, flowing into the endeavor. Tragedy. That my life should be a tragedy. That the world has wronged me. That my meekness, that my aggressiveness, that my wanton pursuance of immediate aches and desires should be fulfilled, without critique.
Ongoing. Like an immense support group for abused children, this world is. Congregate. Appreciate. Nod with approval, because you've had a hard life. What a tragedy. I feel human, because I see your tragedy. It makes me feel love, humanity, and tears take their toll, roll roll roll, down my cheek. But I know you. And I know me. And your tragedy is strong, and horrible, and catastrophic and horrifying. But mine... Mine is much worse. And when i cry for you, I feel a sweetness in my heart. This, is the humanity I speak of.
The sweetness, I will now describe. The tears, rolling down my cheek. I love loving those loveless tragedies. They need it. And so I love them because they need it. We are one big support group. We are one big family of abused children. You throw a tantrum, and I see, and I nod. It is acceptable. Because you are hurt. Acceptable to me, because it must be acceptable. My tantrums must be acceptable.
The sweetness. The image, of me, in a dark forest, on my knees, crying. All alone. That is tragic. That is the sweetness. That somehow there is a beautiful loving hand, with eyes attached looking down at me. Loving me, understanding me. So, I love providing you that hand. I love being those eyes of love, so that you know someone is watching. So that you know they understand. So that I know, someone is watching. That tragic people like us are not fooling ourselves.
That there is a parent in the sky, watching my tears, justifying my pain, relinquishing me of worry, of care, of responsibility. Because I have suffered so. |
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| Created by Decius at
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