what makes a tragedy?

for three years, three months, and give or take three or four days there has been two of us trying to make this shit here worth one more minute of existing within it.

but i'm tired of existing. it ain't worth it just to 'be' no mo.

..........i want to...........
cuz simply being ain't synonymous with
being free, and
simply being don't guarantee i'm
being me, and
simply being means me only
seeing my dreams
instead of
being my dreams

and somewhere during the construction of 'we', i've misplaced the blueprints to 'me'.

used to be
being with you was a rush...lust thrusting blushes into us, brushing up against breaths left panting in erectness, a deluge of flames flooding our bodies until we were burning from pore to floor. our urgently uttered 'mores' ignited higher fires that culminated with carnal combustion before we crumbled exhaustedly into a heap of smoldering embers, broken 'damns' crumbling from our lips in breathless hushes, the debris of our bodies left floating in the afterglow.

now it
trickles like a fickle dick faking ejaculation just to end the copulation with a dry, disgruntled cunt.

used to be
talking to you was a feast i was eager to partake of. i savored your consonants simmered in smoky syllables, nibbling on your succulent murmurs marinated in sincerity until they were so tender they melted right off of your lips. then we'd finish the meal by feeding each other honey-dipped endearments, sipping after-dinner whispers until we were drunk with fascination.

now it's
gnawing on gristled exchanges passing for palpable rations.

what's worse is that maybe what used to be never was.

maybe i've manipulated the remains of these memories like a scientist trying to re-write history, dating the origins of the fossils to a place and time of passion when they were really found in complacency. perhaps the bones we now pick with each other are so brittle because we created this from mind-made materials, determined to mold it into what we wanted it to be instead of letting it evolve into what it was supposed to be.

was it me who embellished our moments together with seconds made of paste?
was it me who encrusted our kisses with explosives?
was it me who sewed significant sentiment into our caresses?
was it me who beaded our breaths with need?
was it me who doctored our desire with devotion?

was this really not a divine design but instead fabrications threaded together in my own mind?

i can speculate about our past until blue hues flush my face of saner make-up. it won't change the fact that in the midst of this break down, the clear message is we should break up.

cuz whether or not our past was fashioned from magic, the fact is, i mourn the time lost more than i more the loss of 'us'.

and that's what's truly tragic.