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the edges peel off every once in a while;
i stick them back together,
press my thumbs down, say i've fixed it---
but it's peeling, fraying,
sliding apart at the seams;
the blurry edges of my vision make me nervous,
make me shake and worry
(i am marble-cut and resolute,
somehow, i'm okay with sentences like puzzle pieces
"you're not okay"
so what?)

it's addiction, you know,
"this is love"
is love
is love
is this
is this love?
is this ever going to change?
my symptoms are showing
(stage directions:  clench fists and
beat holes in the floorboards;
be careful of the bones, they're thin now,
plaster dust packed in a chalky mess
too brittle to serve as framework anymore,
the knees collapse together, tired lovers
sick of swinging back and forth)

act one, scene one:
i never meant for this to happen,
"i don't love you"
cue lights---
the scenery is bleak and minimal,
the cast is laid along the floor in tombstone rows,
players for the damned,
hissing  whispered syllables,
"this is love, this is love"
words as hollow as the glass eyes fixed like spotlights on the stage

i don't know my character's name;
she has no lines, just instructions,
just directions
"beat holes in the floorboards"
beat holes over your heart,
press the edges down and stay standing
while you burrow through your cortex;
hold your tongue and
do as you're told,  just
be careful of the bones:
we can't fix you anymore

"if you break before the second act,
you're off the cast"
so much for being human,
so much for sacrifice---
"your best isn't real enough"
i'm wrist-deep in my ribcage, but
i'm just not "committed to this role;"
stage directions:  clench your fists and
rip through lungs,
pull backbone through the void left by your kidneys
"did i get the part?"
"you're perfect"
smile and take the script,
memorize your stage directions and
be careful of the bones,
someday they'll be all that you've got left;
someday they'll be all that i can be,
a crumbling plaster frame stained pale and blue
and full of holes, scarred ragged and blank,
i'll clench my fists and fall apart
IncompleteMe Featured By Owner Dec 23, 2010  Student Traditional Artist
It's dusty and sad like a back room of a workshop.
ErsatzInspiration Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2011
i like that. that's sort of the kind of thing i was picturing as i wrote it.
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Submitted on
December 2, 2010
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