The Dithyrambos.

I’m dying. It’s a slow death that happens to you, and in this case you wither. You lack, you feel the need to fight but then again, the spirit seems to be outside, forcing you to back down, to cower, to lie down and let your last breath slip away from you. Here, I would not come up and quote Mar-- any Spanish magic realist, and let you know the sorrow I feel. No, I don’t want to pretend, like so many others do, who pass off their own ideas as their grandmothers’ oldest tricks, or tell the world that I am okay. I am not. Not okay. And it is alright for me to admit that. The hurt, the pain and the bitterness is all there. And it does not go away anytime soon. So if you want to believe that it would, then go away from this place and find the happy happy girl with a happy happy world. This world speaks of the unspeakable sadness that is currently coursing through me, and is lost for an outlet.

Death is upon me. Pass me the dirge and a bottle of rum.