michael. (xkillingmadison) wrote in a_poets_heart,

  • Music:

I've been thinking.

Phantom of the Pharmaceutical
At heart, she had the disposition of a prom queen in the cleanest dress. But on the outside, a separate image, decorated with sterry strips and surface veins. Oh, her hair, the purest definition of silk, now gray like the clouds that she feels shading her as auras of premonition, foreshadowing her procession on the darkest day. Somehow, she gave forth the slightest invitation that went by unable to be ignored (years later, I’d come to regret it.) “Salutations,” cried her doorman (an aficionado of the finest brands,) “we love company.” The doors revolved counterclockwise under the watch of vacant eyes… suddenly I felt hypnotized. “Don’t mind the creaking stairs or the dim lights or the feeling of impending death. The constructs are old, as well as the wiring, and soon there’ll be none of you left.” I guess it all started on some dark and stormy night. That’s to say the least. And on that fateful night, I became her Messiah, and the organs upon which she played her desperate songs. Through these doors and fire lit tunnels, strange sensations and misguided sightings; my eyes glazed over and water filled my chest. The waves crashed upon my own shore and, gritting my teeth against text and sand, I gave in to my own crumbling will. I indulged in her, garter, corset and all, until my eyes bled dry from blackened sockets and I was weak in the knees. I laid there helpless in submission, but the tricks up my sleeve crept out in silence to chew me free of my bindings. The ropes fell away and my feet met the ground in flight similar to a fire escape. I made my departure as a fresh-learnt martyr and kissed farewell my momentary rape. Her eyes were the greatest souvenir, as I walked away with nicotine in my smile. Oh, but it was worth all the while, the sad sung song from the seas to the Nile.

No Means Noah
Gentlemen! The time has come to sell yourselves short of the buck and change that you’re worth. Despite the warnings of amputation and wreckage, you failed to keep your hands inside the ride at all times, and now this roller coaster ride is taking you straight to a cellblock with you name carved all over it. Swine of society, to arms! You’ve all been selected to take part in this year’s public disgust pageant. A dress rehearsal will be held a week from your audition; please present yourself accordingly in a standard orange jumpsuit marked with your contestant number. You will be accompanied by your own personal understudy (or one will be appointed to you.) Remember to smile onstage, reflecting the upstanding model citizens that you could have one day been. It’s very, very important that you present yourself as a dignified adult or else the stagehands are bound to come and take you away. Your performance must outdue the charms of the hero, or you just won’t make a convincing enough villain. The curtain closes so quickly, and while the whites of your eyes were honest like Abe, the crowd saw through your crooked character flaws. Smile for the cameras, it’s time for your close-up. I’ll have you in makeup by lights, and by sundown the stage will be set for your stunning premier. You are the role the playwrights prayed for, and with their hands folded, they resemble harmless doves. Beautiful, I’ve got your career in the palm of my hand, and I can make or break you. Tonight it seems quite possible that I could shatter your dreams. You’ll never dance in this town again, due to bad luck and acting. You’re the pauper in the papers, and I’m the Gazette’s greatest cover. You’re nothing but cash in this town and a sentimental suicide lover. We’ve got your name in stone and your worst endeavors caught on tape. You call it a lifestyle… I call it fucking rape.
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