Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Shallow Confession

Don’t put me on the spot

I don’t think I’d like that very much at all

The single light aimed like a cannon at my shaking body

The drops of sweat run like bullets down my face

My feet feel like lead and my tongue tastes like gravel

I open my mouth but only profanities fall out

I’d pick them up but the audience has devoured them

If I show my nerves

If I screw up

I will be next

Eaten alive to feed the machine

Don’t put me on the spot

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