Would you really risk making a
Rhett Butler of me? Too many
devils abound; mine are all too
familiar; yours too much the
strangers to you. Devouring
books for barbiturates, in
full-blown retreat from a world
of terrors, but to blame you
for that would merely render me
another hypocrite of no possible
value to you. I actively
shut down my options, all in
the name of you, beautiful you,
gladly, deliberate and willful.
No other I could ever consider
turning to. Sometimes our
values dictate we do what we
most fear, no matter how
our actions are fated to
be misunderstood. Time's
fickle trickles remain a joke
you're still afraid to laugh at,
to break spontaneity out of
grim-faced nuns decked out in
their traditional sphenisciforman
habits, pulling perfectly
serviceable silk top hats
out of sensibly astonished
rabbits.
This piece is bursting with emotions. The feeling of the titular dilemma- the schism between action and passive anticipation, the paralysis of the soul- these are very well portrayed even though the exact meaning eluded me at times. I absolutely adore the dehumanizing image and the paradox of turning a rabbit into an inanimate object.
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