fossilized shirtsleeves monologue

I wanted to be tragic. Like a pile of limbs heaped on the bathroom floor, covered in tears. The salt from my tears will dry to my face. I don't try to wipe them away, because these tears aren't fleeting, these tears are eternal. Even when they are not there, they are there. Because there are two of me. The one you want to see and the one you don't. No cocktail of oval prescription medication, sips of dark wine, or inhalation of cigarettes can drown this kind of tragic sadness out. It's the kind of sadness that comes from inside you. Like a seed, planted in your stomach and growing roots. A weeping willow clawing deeply and sucking dry all of your nutrients. The limbs grow larger and longer and push on your organs. Closing your lungs, pushing hard on your heart. This consuming tree, was once a small seed, but it has now taken your own life for itself. I wanted to be tragic.