Tragedy strikes like a viper
And crashes like a wave,
Crashes down the Puget Sound,
Echoes like words I crave

God, I hate when it gets like this,
I hate feeling this helpless,
I hate being the tragic child,
I hate being comedic or wild,
Tragedy is an old friend,
And I want its life to end.

For love, for pain,
For crooked hands,
For help, for rain,
For wrists and rubber bands,
For stray dogs, for the pounds,
For those overwhelming sounds,
For the monarch’s stolen crowns,
I hope tragedy will fall,
For everything, and for all.

I don’t want to be a burden,
But what choice do I have?
I don’t like being a child,
I don’t like having short hair,
I don’t like the fact I have to,
Because it just isn’t fair.

And so I’ll cut it short,
Cuz Tragedy is never, ever fair.
I will play this wicked game,
For the hope that he will die.
Because every ruler has an end,
And even gods will cry.

I hope Tragedy has an end,
So it can stop ruining my life.
I will make Tragedy a friend,
So I can stop living out of spite.

I will exist like this,
And I will not apologize.
I will live, and I won’t care
That not all stars will rise.
I am a boy, and I will yell that
To the sky, the seas, the people who please
To try to make that wrong.
I am okay as I am, and I will yell that
To the clouds, to the stars, and everyone who sees
That maybe they are not,
And I hope that I will change their minds.

Tragedy is a gentle beast,
Because though it is loud,
And though it bites like a hound,
And though it rips everything apart,
And though I hate Tragedy,
Really, it’s all irony
Because Tragedy is always the spark
Of a helping hand.

And I am enough
And you are enough.