Image for the poem The Performance

The Performance

today is brighter,  
but yesterday  
was so damn dark;  
floating just above  
this flesh-encased  
watching the shit show  
from the very front row  
where my crazy and I  
make nervous eye contact,  
she winks back mischievously  
while she performs  
her tricks;  
dissociated, at last  
what sweet relief to let go, †  
even if it means the destruction †
will be total;  
fear is for weaklings, †
and she ainít nobodyís bitch  
sheís here to turn my magic  
into a full-blown sacrifice;  
if I canít coax her off the stage,  
there wonít be a thing left of you  
when she finally takes her bow; †  
watch how her rage simmers,  
no one likes being remanded  
to dusty corners† †
of crowded minds  
without the comfort of a broom;  
so when she finally escapes  
her filthy confines,  
she really loves to put on a show -  
leave Ďem wowed;  
break a leg,  
even if it isnít her own  
(especially if it isnít her own)  
and when she goes,  
she always leaves my hands shaking,  
using up all of my adrenaline stores  
to make my wicked heart beat† †  
like itís trying to run from my chest,  
my earliest memories †  
bearing down full-bore,  
while my legs move slowly in the mud
until I burst into flames,
leaving ugly scars all over everyone
brave enough  
to stand this close to a sun
reaching for supernova  

I demanded my release † †
from this †
self-made cocoon, †  
spun with silky tall tales † †  
(inner turmoil, the recurring theme)  
where Iím busy  
fashioning wings †
out of the sludge here at the bottom -  
time-tempered guilt  
sewn down to a loss of self,  
awkward advances,  
ill-timed humor,  
hyper-sexual hypomania,  
looking for love  
in places it cannot exist;  
shameful moments the glue  
holding it all together -  
I couldnít have done any better,  
my prognosis as bleak as ever;  
or so they keep assuring me  
in those offices  
where chemically-induced stability  
is the best they hope for;  
but Iíll wear this tin-can recrimination,  
rough-cast and unpolished,  
strapped to my back  
all the same;  
comfort derived from dysfunction  
is still comfortable, yeah?  
† † †
~ awaiting your departure ~  
the one self-prophesied  
from the very beginning,  
the one always fulfilled;  
gut-punched breaths  
forcing their way  
from frustrated, tight lips;  
I know what I know that I know,  
the empath goddess  
always seemed to have  
the truth written on her hands;  
turns out, the truth she held  
was that I donít know a damn thing,  
not anymore;  
the hallway is a bitch  
the paint still fresh on all these doors;  
I want access  
to what lay beyond them,  
but someone hid all the keys,  
leaving me no choice  
except to attempt entry  
by brute force alone;  
itís no wonder  
Iíve been kicked out  
so many times  
my shoulders are strong, though  
from carrying all the weight  
I added to keep myself safe;  
Iíll keep tearing them down  
until I find the one  
that leads back to you.  
† † †
today is brighter,  
but yesterday  
was so damn dark
Written by LunaGreyhawk
Author's Note
When the light breaks through, itís not always an easy transition. Comfort derived from dysfunction is still comfortable, yeah?
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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