it has been a theatrical performance
a greek tragedy, one might say.
everynight i celebrate
praying to dionysus
and resting in his temple
drinking the fruit of pleasure.
i’ve been drowning myself with anger,
aphrodite is not on my side
didn’t get her blessing at all
it has been so awful
my life could be as compliated as the iliad
i harvest from hegemone’s plants
the leaf that makes me at ease,
a form of running away slowly.
the story of my tragedy
will be engraved in all of your memories
soon enough i will be in hades’ realm
perhaps grow some flowers,
with persephone blooming them easily.
but in this life,
the life that imitates an art form
in the form of a tragedy, a theatrical one
will be remembered
as a great performance, by me,
and myself only.