Death is Not Always Regarded As Inevitable

Elongated

background noise

continuous church bells

struck with the silences found in between

filling space, inside the din,

the bodies of at least five conversations,

lead on into the dreaming of a story ---

A story you want to hear me tell, one of terrible beauty

causing tears to fall down my cheeks,

which means

it is true.

My makeup runs, freshly painted 

as I lay down on a sheet or towel I stretch out

onto your chest, wearing its suit.

On a bed.

You want to listen, but you

cannot help but embrace me, and curl

your limbs around and over me,

burying your head and saying it's impossible-

you want to hold me closely to you.

We go out into the hallways, there are sets

of people everywhere...on the way to there

the corridors and twists and turns fill

with angry faces who don't care for me much, anymore.

Judgment and empty eyes, I lose you in the halls,

like a french farce, leading to

the one meeting place: Here a sort of invisible

campfire.  Celebrities, friends, strangers, peripherals---

all interrupting my story every time I start.

The crowd keeps laughing, or blatantly cutting me off-

Every God Damned Time.

You go silent, and I explain to you that I cannot

tell the story like this, when they won't let me.

Before you can say anything, I tell you -You-

to come and find me, if you want to hear the story.

...I leave the crowd in a huff.


~ M. Lucia