Son of a Storyteller

I’ve been sleeping for months now, 
still just as tired as before. 
and I’ve been begging for someone, 
to taste my rotten core.

And then you came, 
and you lit
my body ablaze, 
and you sang, 
that damn song, 
and my heart began to race,

through all the memories you seared, 
and the pictures that you took, 
I’m a prostitute of images, 
I’m a tired, beat up crook. 

But I
love you. 
Somehow I know I do,
I don’t know how or why or where, 
All I know is that I do, 
I’m sure, 
I love you.

Yet here I am, 
here I am. 

I woke up in the night, 
to find the television, 
flipping through all the channels, 
and casting out the visions, 

of the demons from your hell, 
with plastic hearts of clay, 
I’m a jailor in your prison, 
and I’m dying just to say, 

all the words,
that you spoke, 
that made me someone, 
and all the words I’ve never wrote, 
I’m haunted by everyone,

But I
love you. 
Somehow I know I do,
I don’t know how or why or where, 
All I know is that I do, 
I’m sure, 
I love you.

Yet here I am, 
here I am. 

_____________________________________________________________

Thanks to Devon Maslyn for inspiring the “plastic hearts of clay” line with one of his tweets. Follow him @devonmaslyn he’s a rad kid. 

I can feel my stomach, 

eating itself, 

and my bones are breaking, 

and breaking themselves. 

I can feel my eye lids, 

quiet at night, 

but my ears are still ringing, 

for your voice so alive.  

I’m a liar, I’m a murderer, 

I knew this before, 

I’m a skeptic, I’m a critic, 

I’m the national whore.

_________________________________

Come down,

down,

lay down the sheep,

And drown,

drown,

my miserable misery,

because I’m alive.

I’m alive,

and I don’t know what that could mean, 

Anymore. 

(An empty stage. A strikingly beautiful woman sings a soft lullaby. Her song is interrupted by the sound of her own, quiet, piercing voice. She faces the audience, void of expression. She speaks slowly…)

The Blessed Widow: I have none. (long pause) I don’t exactly know what it is that I lack, but I know it’s missing. I can feel the absence; when I lie down, when I get up, when I scream, when I cry, it’s always there. Or, isn’t I suppose. Sometimes I’ll go to the market for a bottle of milk, and I’ll…..I’ll just forget. I’ll stand staring vaugely for hours at the colors and shapes and all the white and just…….forget. I long for something I do not know. It’s like I’m constantly searching through tall weeds for a coin I don’t even remember losing.

I live to comb through my own existence, again and again.

My postman once told me I was “in the search for a higher power.” (she pauses and touches her mouth) I offer the man some lemonade and he offers to reinvent my life. (she smiles softly and shakes her head) C’est la vie. (pause) My husband dies and suddenly the whole town becomes my council. I don’t need advice, I just need something.

Damn that something.

I had always known this time would come. It was a dark shadow which loomed over my childhood like a passing rain cloud. I knew I’d need it someday. Everyone needs it.

Perhaps its peace. Or maybe it’s passion. In some form I’m sure it’s filled by this addiction or that. Or maybe these are all just names for the same, the same (she struggles for a word) thing?

That must be it. The postman and the president, the saint and the sinner, they all are rummaging the world for the same……thing. We all look for it (she motions to the audience) It’s our purpose. Call it God, or call it Destiny. Call it Fate, or maybe even call it Love. (she chuckles at herself quietly) No, no. I suppose it can’t be called Love. (she pauses for a long moment….pushing a threatening image from her mind)

I was just a girl once. A sparkling memory now, but yes I was a child. I had my dreams. I had my hopes. I had my whole life and I had it by the string. And now (pause) now I have this. I have an empty house full of regret. (she motions wildly around her) And I have all (she begins to break down, slowly crying) this.

How did I miss it? (she continues weeping) How could it be so far? Why am I so damn afraid?

I’m so afraid. (she pauses)

I’m so afraid of the nothing.

(long pause. She collects herself and delivers the lines slowly and deliberately) My life is a dark chasm. A deep crevice of nothing.

(she pauses and lifts her head to face the audience with blank expression) Sometimes I’ll go to the market for a bottle of milk, and I’ll…..I’ll just forget. I’ll stand staring vaugely for hours at the colors and shapes and all the white and just…….forget.

(slowly, deliberately) I long for something I do not know. It’s like I’m constantly searching through tall weeds for a coin I don’t even remember losing.

(pause) I live to comb through my own existence, again and again.