Fray.

being born into consciousness and suddenly I was aware of everything that wasnt real.

It’s a hazy black and white scene.

I step out of my body with robotic movement...

and I watch myself like a bad movie.

The sane and the insane dance, entwined by smoke...

My sharp dilated pupils drill through the screen,

like the eyes of an analytical film critic.

I hide my darting eyes behind my tired hands-

my inner child is scared.

I watch my heroine on stage...as the camera rolls behind me.

A tight corset and elegant fishnet legs twirl and twirl.

Her feathery dress fades away with speed, as it

spins, spins and spins

makes me dizzy...I can’t stop this madness!

Always I watch with disdain-analysing, criticising

but she’s beautiful...

The audience gasps!

A rusty nail in the wooden floor, she doesn’t see it

she falls...

Crimson blood drops down her English rose skin.

She shuffles of with her head down.

Backstage, like Humphrey Bogart she sits, a cigarette dangling from her lips...

Scowling...feeling film noir, her fake clown face smudged with tears.

She senses the can can dancers, silhouetted in the cream curtain, but doesn’t look...

The black and white scene rolls behind her...

She thinks of the angry critic...

while the crowd roars and the legs encore.

Reviews

[Liana]

exactly... :)

[Chris]

that is a moving rendition... so many "staged" musicals and how individuals respond to the postures of the many. Bogart and Bacall had a realness - the tension of "awareness". They added dimension to a flat "view"... I wonder if "we" do the same?

[Kayla]

I love this poem! I can actually visualize all description in the poem! Great flow!