Lowridenn
05-27-2005, 01:53 PM
Its long. I'm sorry.
- The Final Preparation of Sodium and Chloride -
Act I: Studies of [Saints and Scholars]
Enter pretty girl with tears in her eyes and blood on her hands.
Intoxication has become the ardent embrace
that cupid has exhausted for so long…
[Excuses. I know…]
It wasn’t supposed to end like this:
the broken bones;
the bloody mess.
[The way you used to look at me.
You used to.]
Please understand,
the fist-sized organ played tricks;
a .92 solution of chemical paranoia.
For now I’ll just lie here:
in between the satin sheets that we graced for so long,
using my saline tongue
[Sodium. Chloride.
Oh, how Chemistry has become so predictable.]
to heal your salted wounds.
I just wanted to feel your fingers
scribble profundities across my back
for one last
time.
Tell me, dear artist:
Do you understand mathematics?
Because I realize that for the first time:
this paper bag brings me no solace.
Enter bloody boy holding his arm like a sling.
Don’t bother to say another word.
How does it feel, dear scientist,
to remove the heart of another nameless boy?
And once again, [Enter sarcasm] lover;
we find ourselves soft spoken
in the pluperfect calm between cries.
Why must you keep taking your
metaphorical blade to my heart?
Pause. Rewind.
Act II: The Saline Compromise
Enter girl walking towards the bed, younger, thoughts audible. Boy under covers.
Pull me in under the sheets.
Your touch is so familiar yet so foreign,
as you trace your fingers across my back.
You remain an untangled mess of memories;
of soliloquies…
I know the roll;
I understand my lines all too well:
“Who would you like to be, tonight?”
[Maybe, Cinderella?]
Your roaming hands speak in thespian tongues;
like phantoms of figurines laced in white.
How does my sweat taste?
Can you feel the desperation
in my half beating heart?
Or in between my folded moans
of want; of lust?
[Of something more
than a ghost of our latitudes?]
She speaks.
Where have you gone to?
You’ve become so distant.
Please take me with you:
to that place inside your head…
[Perhaps… are we too young?]
The reply: after a short pause.
What was it you wanted, my dear?
[i]Her anger: the thiocyanate complex.
To think, I once believed in the innocence
those diamond-plated eyes had to offer.
A revelation:
I now realize that you are the serpent.
Exit girl. Boy remains: calm, unknowing of the events ahead.
Act III: The Serpent
Times passes. Boy is still in bed.
I’m still here, lover,
ready for you to explain
the final preparation of sodium and chloride.
Consciousness begins to slip away.
My head is spinning…
The darkness is slipping closer.
Spinning and spinning…
The boy blacks out.
Enter girl. Something hidden behind her back.
Forgive me, sly poet,
for our filament affair
must end
like
this.
Exit girl. Boy awakens, alone, bloodied by what remains.
Burn your letter, lover;
while tear drops burst in tangents of your pale-faced figurine
dancing to the adagio pounding in my head.
This last night we dined on poetry and wine
only to find you blinded by the siren’s screaming light.
I have nothing left to leave you.
[Perhaps my… perhaps not.]
I am nothing
but a bagatelle of information
a prism of words
a shimmer of consciousness
in the smallest ripple of time.
Footsteps in blue shift. Boy hides.
Act IV: We are but Satellites
Return to end of Act I.
Play.
Why must you keep taking your
metaphorical blade to my heart?
Mathematics has fooled me once again.
Understand this, despicable poet:
The finality of mathematics
has become more beautiful than anything
you could
ever
create.
A promise:
We are but satellites.
In parting, I offer you my sadness:
My unintentional
and
only
masterpiece.*
Exeunt.
*Final stanza:
Respectfully borrowed excerpt from
Nadir of a Cycle Named After Eros
- a poem by Reena (Saturnine Silence)
- The Final Preparation of Sodium and Chloride -
Act I: Studies of [Saints and Scholars]
Enter pretty girl with tears in her eyes and blood on her hands.
Intoxication has become the ardent embrace
that cupid has exhausted for so long…
[Excuses. I know…]
It wasn’t supposed to end like this:
the broken bones;
the bloody mess.
[The way you used to look at me.
You used to.]
Please understand,
the fist-sized organ played tricks;
a .92 solution of chemical paranoia.
For now I’ll just lie here:
in between the satin sheets that we graced for so long,
using my saline tongue
[Sodium. Chloride.
Oh, how Chemistry has become so predictable.]
to heal your salted wounds.
I just wanted to feel your fingers
scribble profundities across my back
for one last
time.
Tell me, dear artist:
Do you understand mathematics?
Because I realize that for the first time:
this paper bag brings me no solace.
Enter bloody boy holding his arm like a sling.
Don’t bother to say another word.
How does it feel, dear scientist,
to remove the heart of another nameless boy?
And once again, [Enter sarcasm] lover;
we find ourselves soft spoken
in the pluperfect calm between cries.
Why must you keep taking your
metaphorical blade to my heart?
Pause. Rewind.
Act II: The Saline Compromise
Enter girl walking towards the bed, younger, thoughts audible. Boy under covers.
Pull me in under the sheets.
Your touch is so familiar yet so foreign,
as you trace your fingers across my back.
You remain an untangled mess of memories;
of soliloquies…
I know the roll;
I understand my lines all too well:
“Who would you like to be, tonight?”
[Maybe, Cinderella?]
Your roaming hands speak in thespian tongues;
like phantoms of figurines laced in white.
How does my sweat taste?
Can you feel the desperation
in my half beating heart?
Or in between my folded moans
of want; of lust?
[Of something more
than a ghost of our latitudes?]
She speaks.
Where have you gone to?
You’ve become so distant.
Please take me with you:
to that place inside your head…
[Perhaps… are we too young?]
The reply: after a short pause.
What was it you wanted, my dear?
[i]Her anger: the thiocyanate complex.
To think, I once believed in the innocence
those diamond-plated eyes had to offer.
A revelation:
I now realize that you are the serpent.
Exit girl. Boy remains: calm, unknowing of the events ahead.
Act III: The Serpent
Times passes. Boy is still in bed.
I’m still here, lover,
ready for you to explain
the final preparation of sodium and chloride.
Consciousness begins to slip away.
My head is spinning…
The darkness is slipping closer.
Spinning and spinning…
The boy blacks out.
Enter girl. Something hidden behind her back.
Forgive me, sly poet,
for our filament affair
must end
like
this.
Exit girl. Boy awakens, alone, bloodied by what remains.
Burn your letter, lover;
while tear drops burst in tangents of your pale-faced figurine
dancing to the adagio pounding in my head.
This last night we dined on poetry and wine
only to find you blinded by the siren’s screaming light.
I have nothing left to leave you.
[Perhaps my… perhaps not.]
I am nothing
but a bagatelle of information
a prism of words
a shimmer of consciousness
in the smallest ripple of time.
Footsteps in blue shift. Boy hides.
Act IV: We are but Satellites
Return to end of Act I.
Play.
Why must you keep taking your
metaphorical blade to my heart?
Mathematics has fooled me once again.
Understand this, despicable poet:
The finality of mathematics
has become more beautiful than anything
you could
ever
create.
A promise:
We are but satellites.
In parting, I offer you my sadness:
My unintentional
and
only
masterpiece.*
Exeunt.
*Final stanza:
Respectfully borrowed excerpt from
Nadir of a Cycle Named After Eros
- a poem by Reena (Saturnine Silence)