im terrified of tenebrous youth slipping from my grasp, yet i wonder with a comet-glimmer what i'd be like at 30. would i be like a sloughed snake settled in its second skin? or would i still be chasing adrenaline and conformity while railing brokenheartedly, mouth aghast in garish screams, against a society so stiff it resists carving out space for me to just exist and breathe?
i look around me and i know there must be struggles within, storms tempestuous tempered behind dead eyes and hollowed-out dreams. yet all i see is straight spines and tipped-up chins, looking for all the world like they know just how to be. all that glitters is not gold, and tip-of-the-iceberg and something about appearances and deception, but the shivering sidhe seethes beneath my skin and strikes a bargain mephistopheles-reminiscent with my klytemnestra fear.
scarcely do i dare to wonder what it'd be like to be at peace. there's wars within my head, drums tolling my death; inevitable, imminent, and in my inefficacy i wilt like an arrow in surrender. no, i could never know peace, athena-cursed and ares-blessed as i am. mired in mistakes, inexorable, intractable in my proclivity towards misery, i think i know what stars feel like as they burn out to black holes.
perhaps, i muse, fading into obscurity would be my divinity.
