[birthday plot] this is how the world ends...in a whimper.
Eighteen years and pocket full of change, and angels were weeping, crying down from Heaven, as Ophelia kicked and youthfully screamed and sang her way into the world. Her mother, sang and sighed her way out of it that very day, naming her daughter, kissing her forehead, and the slate grey sky and weeping angels carried the young woman away.
Time has tarried on, and Ophelia is weeping now, happy tears and sad tears and mad tears and she fights her coming of full age, standing at the top of the world, at the top of the waterfall, all the water rushing down. Heaven can be smelled, but there are no angels that are weeping. Just girls and women.
“Hallelujah!” she shouts, flinging out her fists from her chest, dressed in red, a copper-tone murder, and today she’s letting go. Ophelia lets out a wordless shout, just to see the birds fly up as it echoes off the trees and the tears keep rolling.
It burns, all it does is burn and she hates them, those men, and doesn’t want to save them any more. She needed to and she couldn’t, a patchwork of failures, starting with her mother, and nothing is right. In the end, on this day, her birthday, Ophelia doesn’t care. They can all go to Hell.
She jumps, and cascades, wet feet, wet girl, all hair and red down the waterfall, and cliffs and stones and torrents meeting her. Her voice is lost in the madness below, and she goes to swim, but at the end, at sharpest hits her and all is bright and blurry, radiating out from the center of her head and arm and heart.
Thus is the act of drown’d Ophelia, she ends.
Time has tarried on, and Ophelia is weeping now, happy tears and sad tears and mad tears and she fights her coming of full age, standing at the top of the world, at the top of the waterfall, all the water rushing down. Heaven can be smelled, but there are no angels that are weeping. Just girls and women.
“Hallelujah!” she shouts, flinging out her fists from her chest, dressed in red, a copper-tone murder, and today she’s letting go. Ophelia lets out a wordless shout, just to see the birds fly up as it echoes off the trees and the tears keep rolling.
It burns, all it does is burn and she hates them, those men, and doesn’t want to save them any more. She needed to and she couldn’t, a patchwork of failures, starting with her mother, and nothing is right. In the end, on this day, her birthday, Ophelia doesn’t care. They can all go to Hell.
She jumps, and cascades, wet feet, wet girl, all hair and red down the waterfall, and cliffs and stones and torrents meeting her. Her voice is lost in the madness below, and she goes to swim, but at the end, at sharpest hits her and all is bright and blurry, radiating out from the center of her head and arm and heart.
Thus is the act of drown’d Ophelia, she ends.