“The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Mark Twain |
I fooled them. I fooled them all. What they mistook for loneliness was…”love of solitude." And when they believed me sad, and my space filled with misery, I…”rejoiced in my grief”. I tricked them. I tricked them all. When they saw that I frowned, that I knitted my brow, I stood tall; my experiments to…“bring my eyebrows” together were a success. I deceived them. I deceived them all. When they saw my tears and thought I cried I told them the stains of those tears were…in celebration of “a life well-lived”. And when they saw my soul turned dark, my spirit bleak, when they thought me disappearing into myself, I waved them away. I bid them leave me be. It was a trick of lights, a shift of shadows, and their perception was all wrong. I misled them. I misled them all. When I laid down, when I gave up, When I was defeated, They thought it was despair, But it was…only “rest” I was seeking. Surely of this I would not jest. But as my skin turned cold, and my heartbeat stilled, as I struggled for breath— they remembered my “love” of solitude my “joy” of grief my “celebration” of mediocrity my want of “rest”-- and they turned their backs on me. |