BALLET FOR TWO LEFT FEET
saying first that i matter,
then second implying you never cared;
i fall downward inside a carnivorous spiral.
sucked in by self-doubt
i admit my defeat.
praise and glory has fled from my reach
and i resign to my pleasant obscurity.
held within the boundaries
of this four-walled conciousness
i find myself stiffled
by an air-conditioned plume of cyanide gas.
as i gasp god's name in vain,
my lungs ignite in a tortured burst.
heart bleeding forth so freely.
my sanctity has been violated,
i am no longer pure.
and i feel the cold winds picking up,
keeping my stare frozen straight ahead.
there's a command performance taking place
in the middle of this post-apocalytic glow,
the prima ballerina rises to her toes one final time
as the swan finally dies.
my tears come crashing down
in a dance of shattered glass.
and i watch as her feet are cut to shreds
as she dances her final plea.
her grace has climaxed in this tragic moment.
the fire has never burned so hot inside of her,
as you can see as she puts her life
into this final act.
and as the last breath leaves her
she falls to her knees, exhausted: dead.
and i rise and give her my standing ovation,
the only sound echoing throughout this fallen world.
and i feel it all collapsing
around me, and all i can say
copyright © 1993 Matte Elsbernd