See over my right shoulder, the dead, dreary, dead branches of the wintery trees, barely moving in the ever-powerful gust of wind driving this dead, dreary, dead wintery season. Not even a fervent burst of energy can move the slim slivers of silver gray metal fibers springing out from the ever-overlooked sabers of the smothered icy flatland.
See over my left shoulder, my pale, ghostly, pale face staring back at me forcing my lucrative thoughts to my shaking hands. Not even the strongest helicase enzyme could unzip, untwist, unzip the simple, dangerous, simple deoxyribonucleic acid strung down my body, running down my veins like my steaming morning mocha, caffeinating my blood, my blood, my blood and pushing me to push farther, deeper, farther into the heavens of my thoughts, the meadows of my eyes, the hell atop my fingertips – one, two, three, four, five.
Thank heavens, your heavens, my heavens they’re all there; the unsolved mystery beneath my fingernails is still lost, lost, lost like my last fourteen chapsticks. Help, anybody. Does anyone see a lonesome chapstick tube? Forget it. It’s right beneath my toes – one, two, three, four, five. I am standing on top of a gold mine—inhale the chemicals, feel the potency of the potential inside of my body, do you realize how stupid you were? I gave you my attention and you took it like fame, I gave you my love and you took it like medication. Darling, I gave you my everything—I gave you myself but I can’t say you took it because you never did, and instead you stole my muscles and my bones, and the gravity holding up my chest from crashing back down on me after every single breath.
But most importantly, you stole my magic potion—one sip of that ever-so-clear concoction has the ability to provide me with a splinter of the sun, just enough to shine illuminating light on my mind, giving me the realization that I am still drunk off of you—and you and you apparently. But you grabbed it, took it, grabbed it, you thief, and you left me here to bear the freezing, cold, freezing winter on my own. My body is numb, my brain is numb, my heart is numb, and not even the symphony of my screams is enough to shatter, shatter, shatter the icicles surrounding my soul.
Instead, all I have is a noxious, lethal, deadly, cup of noxious, lethal, deadly poison, and I can already feel a single sip of its opacity slowly trickling down my throat like molasses. And it burns it burns it burns. Look into my eyes. See the raging heat rising, dilating my pupils to their limits, vanishing the blue from my irises, and understand that the words coming out of your mouth burn me like lava, and the volcanic essence of your intentions burns holes in my veins, leaving a forsaken cavity in my chest. So the next time you have the opportunity to articulate an opinion, make sure you don’t create a copy of the key to the cage of my own personal dragon, waiting to breathe fire on your words and wrangle, mangle, wrangle your next ones.
Written for performance.
