I am Hedda Gabler without guns or intentions; a mess of a woman with a searing flame past. Lack of maternal mention and a father of strength. Grappling air in attempt for groundedness. A chaotic wind of indecision, disorderly heart, and passionate impulsivity.
I am Holden Caulfield, decorated in self sabotage and wearing arrogant impetuousness like a watch; ticking, timing, sturdy, and fragile. Falling half in love with movements and words without believing in such. Calculated, falsely aged, and perpetually running in place.
I am Jordan Baker, covering collapse in composure and coated in nonchalance. Rising and reigning without a grasp thereof. Pursuing without intent, finding privacy in blinded noise, and almost snakeish.
Can a protagonist and villain exist within oneself, a plot line of internal turmoil? Could my creation be fueled by my destruction? How do these two exist and coincide without burning the other down in breath? How do I progress without regression, live without self sabotage? Can I?
Porcelain Prose 