one-man show

i called myself a strange soul, and minutes later i
was spilling guts in the neon city. i was too metaphorical,
too lustrous for the lip-glossy director. i was too elusive
even for myself. are these even my words at all? i thought.
but of course. they must be. i wrote them.
i played into your smile, your effervescent skill
and knew just how scared you were to judge me.
sometimes things just go.
i found, in the end, what i was trying to kill.
i coddled it, swathed it in words and beautiful scar tissue,
and brought it back to life.