On Irony

Irony. It haunts me everywhere I go. It's like a seamless phantom following my every footstep and overshadowing my shadow and besting my actions through its counter actions and reactions. It's a spider's web. And I'm the little moth.

I don't stand a chance.

Every time it strikes it taunts me. It pulls me deeper into the venomous tentacles of the hunting spider. The arachnid, sucking my blood dry. It feels like I'm in a play or a book. even a newspaper column could describe it. Maybe it's an irony in itself that the infinite possibilities I dream of serve as nothing but a paragraph printed on a piece of paper, overlooked because it's written right next to the astrology column.

Irony. My nemesis. I feel powerless compared to it. how can I control the very fabric of destiny? or is it really destiny?

How do you kill irony?