Xanadu
 

After Ken Griffin I’m infatuated with my values, then I’m tried by integrity and myself. My ideas arranged on a shelf until I have to choose. A fragment of myself I lose when I tell me and you what I would do if I were you. In truth, I am not sure what I would do.

I’d rather remain wrapped in the foil, sealed in the box. Untouched on the shelf of a convenience store, than be gummed. To have all my bubbly flavor sucked out. To be chewed over, and over again. A temporary bubble of pleasure that once it pops is spit out. Disregarded. Replaced by a fresher piece.  While I’m left stuck to the bottom of a shoe, or underneath a table. I’ve become someone else’s problem. If given the choice I would’ve remained as a resin, dripping from the saf

I’ve been laundered. You used me,  valued and cherished me. But once a new material comes long, you throw me on the floor.   You no longer needed me. I'm not perfect. I have stains that need to be spun and rinsed out, hit with a rock and  vigorously scrubbed on a ridged surface. Once I’ve worked my wrinkles out, sorted and folded nicely, I am still neglected. I need to be washed on delicate. I am being ripped up, snagged and other colors fade into me. And yet my fabric will o

Eyes watering. Lights glaring. Everybody staring. I do not want to be tabled. I do not want to be looked at. I do not want to be on display. So stuck, so tired.  Table turning my stomach. Legs shaky and splintered. Nowhere to go—Nowhere to hide.

I’m laddered by others,  stepped on and used. Rear rail creaking  under the intense weight as I’m a platform to climb and take advantage of. The rear braces, unused to  such load, caves in on itself. Meant to reach for towering heights,  yet exploited for selfishness.  I splinter in silence, my frame begging for care. Paint chipped from the grasp of hands that never stay. Still, I hold their hopes, their boots,  their burdens.   When they are done ascending,  no one ever look

The anxiousness I hold in my  Decisions hurt my soul  Like a kneeling sinner in mass.  Begging for help. Begging for forgiveness. Begging...

Red wine intoxicates the gray carpet, the living room is filled with screaming and tears, but the red disperses throughout. I think back...

I spend nights drifting off in a beat up taxi, barrelling towards the traffic signal, meant to yield, meant to brake, as fog lamps beam...

The music roars bouncing off walls. Heels click, voices tangle up,  plates clatter,  glass rings,  and camera flashes. The room spins ...

The stage is full of dust and amp cables.  The floor, warm from the lights. The chairs are empty and leaning.  The silence echoes around....