I’ve been ducking tears so long I failed to realize I’d slowly begun falling in love with heartache.
These tear ducts have become quacks like real ones… Because before, their actions meant I had learned something, but now the tear drop action just means I’m actin. Theatrical social performance to verify that I too have vilified passion, and that love in any form causes me to squeeze my eyes shut and move on past it.
The idea of falling in love is propped up by the idea of not falling- so when the opportunity for potential authenticity comes calling I doubtfully stand my ground until the sound of my pounding heart crashing into the street like a star knocked off a Christmas tree sounds through my being with resounding confidence.
Once again the tear has won.
Though I hear the voices of many here, when I open my eyes it’s only me here.
The drops splash down out of hopelessness from whence they come, and some instinct compels me to duck…
But because I never actually moved, my tearful addiction overtakes me in a rush and I slide down with the emotional flush…
A waddling prisoner of these tear ducts.