Millions [Poetry]

backstage bleachers

backstage bleachers

september30twenty18

three point ringer knocks my head off, the metaphor makes it feel too real. my stomach's in hazard knots and I realize that this rarely lovely disease turns into addiction with a snap of the fingers and a flick of the wrist; and I've been hooked since dawn.

it's all overthought, half-baked fantasy left cold on the counter, tastes just like it sounds.

you're spinning, I'm dizzy, it's hard to watch but I'll suffer for you. in the meantime, I'll perceive too close and smile too wide, because the main cast is a little too pretty not to stare (especially the lead, I'm in tears).

the drama weaves on, I'm a stitch to the side. let's keep it that way, maybe I'll be curled around a couple fingers, or someone'll grab some safety scissors.

I waited for a while, I could never win. I'm seemingly racking up points but spending them all on the Love Tester.

they'll make quite a scene, cause the perfect cacophony. I never asked for such an efficient timewaster but it's all working out fine. sure, I say back, remembering the pre-heartbreak I'm already feeling from the inevitable disaster.

I bought tickets to the show, to the game, and I got in for free. how I'd long to run front, to rewrite a star or two, but for now I'll casually stare at you.