True Story

The trouble with making your dreams reality is that

Your dreams

Become

Reality.

They are no longer beautiful, tidy notions of sparkle and wonderment.

They have problems, they get trashed, someone fucks them up.

They're not pretty anymore.

They didn't mean as much as you thought they would.

They ruin everything.

When it's intangible, it's safe from your own erroneous judgement and it's safe from other people's heavy and cutting words and infallible stupidity.
When it's there, when it's real, it's vulnerable.

And it will

Get

Broken.

Eris

The toxic spill
The noxious fumes

The pain, the pestilence

Famine, chaos, discord

Hail Eris, they speak!

Their tongues tripping in jubilation!

The hearts of men held rapt by the furor.

Hail Eris, they cry!

Whoa, for she is merciless!

Her ivory fingers spreading poison throughout the land
And her apple, her golden fruit

Lobbed like a grenade between lovers and foes
Hail Eris, they shout!

Yea, for she is ruthless!

The willows weep and burn

The river runs red and wild

Stones crumble.

Hearts blacken.

Hail Eris, they speak!

Whoa, for she is powerful!

She sees what is good, and she weakens.

She sees what is pure, and she falters.

Within her box of misery, she is unprotected.

She is nothing without the pain of others.

Hail Eris, they shout!

Before castrating themselves for her sake

So she may thrive another day.

Untitled

I'm not mad that I'm late

I'm not mad that I'm inconvenienced

I'm not mad that I've lost a day

I'm not mad that all plans have been rearranged

I'm mad that I have to wait an additional 12 hours to see a face I've not seen in three weeks.

AND THAT... Is what makes it so strange.