Requiem

I threw myself off a bridge this morning.

If I was terrified at all it wasn’t as terrifying as I could have imagined.
The closest thing I felt to fear was thinking too much of the method of the event than of the actual event.
The concept itself was so flawless and so dynamic

(If any concept could be both flawless and dynamic, that is).

Interestingly enough, above everything else it was hilarious, my schematic demonstration:
the grand act of the normalcy and simplicity behind the persona and seduction of the lies.
It wasn’t an issue of concealing the truth – that is something all ‘artistes’ are able to do.
It wasn’t my fitting nausea in the morning that would account for my absence.
No, I think the climax was this feeling of something akin to empowerment accompanying the revelation of knowing something that I alone could know

(I feel tempted to call it a secret but that term forces a diminuendo of the rush, a suffocation that this feeling certainly did not warrant).

I knew that if I wasn’t careful I could have been discovered… but that notion is absurd for no one is more careful than me.
That fact should be easily derived from my flawless concept – one of a mastermind. A mastermind missed no calculation and no angle

(Impossible as it may seem, certainly a mastermind missed nothing).

Perhaps that is why this mastermind finds insult to the mocking irony of the disappointment –
the ruined resolution of that incorrect accidental following an exponential crescendo. Shattering the ivory foundation, losing raw metallic-tasting substance –
all accompanying the more painful pang of the

failure - failure - failure.

the sting of the bright
the inevitability of the night
nothing to the
bones and
the
blood
and
the

Boo... such a tremendously disdainful anticlimax.

Note: This site won't let me format this prose poem the way this was originally formatted, which is frustrating beyond words. But here's the gist of it.