Queen: Observation One

It was through observation that I discovered Queen. 

I could tell because her art changed--the concrete became more abstract. 

The writings slowly became more evolved--from slight remnants of her to oblivion.

Soon, no one--from classmates to teachers, understood her metaphors, the direction her mind went with certain pieces.  Genius and dementia began to walk fine lines.

I don't know why it never occurred to me how fragile Human Spirit could be.  That, at times, it can crack, crumble--that other elements can slither in before putting the facade back together. 

Was my love at that point and I was too blinded by my own agenda to see the signs?  Or was this her way of saying she didn't need me or want me?

Either way, I was no longer in the top running for her attentions, and I was, in one word, pissed.  And that is putting it lightly.

Once Queen came to light, I felt such a sequence of emotions.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to fight.  I wanted to fuck.  I did more the later than anything to channel the aggression in a positive way, even if it meant my clitoral and vaginal tissues were raw as a result.