Mosquito

It’s a beautiful day to be in nature.

But not for everyone.
My friend is fighting for his life.
I’m clapping just for fun.

I finally caught him, the mosquito.
His final sight, a round of applause. 
“It’s for me!” he thought.
That was its fatal flaw.

The show must go on.
His friends arrive for an encore.

I let this problem get out of hand.
His body hit the floor.

He caught a mosquito. The last thing it saw was a round of applause. It’s for me, he thought. Yes, it certainly is. Everything is brightest before it’s dark. As the light fades away, his soul fades too. They are both buried beneath the darkness of his mind. His dreams and nightmares alike are like a word that has not been spoken. But that’s all our reality is, until we acknowledge it. The perception of our reality is always hidden until we uncover its truth.The mosquito pressed against two palms feels no more pain than I do cracking my knuckles. I am just elongating a problem. That’s how a crisis happens. When a problem gets too out of hand, in this case, literally. The pain seeps into my mental state. But all pain is mental, until something breaks. It is a tolerance that’s built through running through the muck. Blood, sweat, and tears are the only liquids which solidify something. They don’t dry, the coalesce into strength. They multiply like atoms and finally enough into a thought or emotion. That is the pain. It is beautiful despite its harmful aspect. It is powerful regardless of how much power it takes away.