literature

poetry won't change your mind.

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ChloroformBoy's avatar
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Literature Text

everyone knows hollywood plays favourites.  everything must be cinematic and over-the-top.  and we all know that histrionic duo everyone thinks belong together because oh, i don't know, maybe they're adorable when they make out.  or something.

we all see them.  they're like that perfect western movie: the daring hero whisks the capable damsel off to onceuponatime land, and the jester (the fading character with little or no importance to the main plot) just sits there and takes it like the fool he's scripted to be.

she's the one everyone wants; the one nobody can get.  he's the bard, the cowboy, the knight in shining armour.  she's the one to complete him; he could complete her.  he's willling to change if she's willing to open her arms, her heart.  from menageries, to theatres, to each other's cosy homes.  now everyone, say awhhhh.

she's reckless and daring: his ideal queen.  for her, he'd kill thousands of innocent dragons and ogres, cross a moat of typicality and heartache, overlook the blatantly subtle pities of the fool -- the fool whose words deny and defy the romantic escapades the main characters venture through.  these include, but mustn't be limited to: moonlit sonnets, starry picnics, heart-shaped spotlight.  happiness.  true love.  a rooting audience.  how cliche.

and nobody remembers the five-seconds of infamy (humiliation) from the comic relief.  joke's on him.  nobody realises the tragedy masqued by the poor clown's painted smile.  the lovers hold hands, while the jester's punchline is six decades stale.  the sun sets over the shakesperean balcony over our fairytale superstars.  Rapunzel and Prince Charming, or whatever.  and no one gives a damn about forged memories or altered personalities; the focus shifts to the fantastical lovers galloping on stallions to some faraway kingdom all their own.

end credits.  fade to black.  upbeat piano music.  fin.  everyone (that matters) lives happily-ever-after and all that bullshit.  the spectators clap.  cheer.  a round of applause.  a round of tears.  not the same reason the jester's crying, though.  the jester, remember, (because i know you all forgot) is crying for keeping up his laughable charade.  is he happy?  maybe he can pretend, but deep down he wishes the screenplay writer selected him as the celebrity.  the jealous chump.  how pathetic.

how fucking pathetic.
neither will prose.

if you think this is about you, it is.
© 2010 - 2024 ChloroformBoy
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senses--fail's avatar
i love this. so incredibly much. :D
"everyone [that matters] lives happily-ever-after and all that bullshit" :love: