I never played Hamlet,

I was just the performer --


who was playing him.

The (Only) Story
(A Friend Pt. 2)
by Ryan P. Kinney

"So, this is it then?"
"THE END..."

"No, only yours"
"Well, only this part of your story."

"So, What happens now?"
"Where do I go?"

"That's up to you."
"Where do you think you'll go?"

"I guess I hadn't really thought of it."

"It's time to start now."
"We've got places to go."
"Whatever you think, is right somewhere, someplace."
"You write your own story."

"I was too busy living to think about it ending."

"That's the point of it, isn't it."

"So, who are you?

"Oh, you know..."

I DO.
I know her
I guess we all do.
We've known her all along
from
THE BEGINNING...

Spin me some velvet,
Scuff me over with gravel,
Pick me some bluesy strings;
Tie me a bunch of wildflower quavers,
Let’s hear how your phoney sax sings.

Dip me in treacle,
Needle me with soul,
Groove me some dirt and some bass;
******* your ***** devil’s pipe strong,
Let’s play us some bourbon and lace.

Spin me some velvet,
Scuff me over with gravel,
Lay me down in meadowsong;
Rent me a dime’s worth of old dust and daydreams,
Honey chil’, you cain’t do me no wrong.

replicas oft go on display
reproductions of the real thing
recast in an aping array
ripping off the principle's ring

every now and then they'll be seen
espousing that they're genuine
e'en taking credit for the breen
ergo this be not of true line

verily stealing other's word art
very little conscience do they show
villains are those of thieving cart
vilification we pour on their glow

eyes on the look out always glean
embezzling plagiarist's grotty hands
ever looting original bean
endlessly making phoney grands