I don’t request permission to do what I do.
I’m playing for keeps in a one woman band.
I’ll dance until my bubble bursts. Flooding the stage with words of yours that have no meaning.
Throw your bills in my direction. You are desperate for feeling.
You are empty. Confused. Devoid of purpose, or relation.
Little boys crying alone.
Mothers who don’t want them.
Fathers who are no where, and never were somewhere that meant something.
You scrape for pale imitations of limitless feeling. You paint your world ever so accurately with absolutely nothing.
But from the flood will emerge one word. Just one…