Finding Something -- First Draft
"Before you were, I am."
You sing this inside me, you let me know.
I'm begging for an end to Floating Ophelia.
Something says, "Not so, not so, not so,"
Leaving me hanging on your stage whispers.
All the promises of breaking and entering,
That you would burst into this room and find
A thousand dead and dying Spartans,
And me hiding, alone in my narrow shame.
None of them opened up their mouths to cry,
But I was no match for all my fears,
Writhing and breeding in sawdust and cables
And overwhelmed by the wolf.
Perhaps I should play the Spartan,
Mastering myself, closed mouth, no syllables,
But I am no match for all my fears,
Writhing and breeding in sawdust and cables.