Indigestion Scripting

Sure, make yourself comfortable for the audience,
just little ol’ you alone with a million other strangers,
hot as hell ready to stretch them nimble extremities,
toes toward your forehead and the back of your neck,
dripping wildly with sweat at even the very thought of it,
when suddenly that familiar thunderous applause breaks your digression.

Ah, here it comes with your most artfully sensitive acting,
to cry or laugh on command before those understanding,
with beautiful traces across your stocks of ample femininity,
raising arms suggestively to convey either freedom or bondage,
snapping this crowning mane back in absolute disgust or defiance,
ferociously taking on all degrees of challenges washing over your reflection.

Right, next is our profound moment of sincere contemplation,
close examination of new creases in your delicate foundation,
a meticulous accounting in measuring all of one’s perimeters,
from stark characteristic landmarks ending with mere specters,
in digs and floodings high on the surface draining far deep within,
tracking above paths never wandered, considered, or thought to have existed.

Finally, the main event we’ve been patiently waiting here for,
your direct choice by questioning a purpose to this continuation,
all extremely pseudo-introspective wielded with a sledgehammer,
decidedly leaving your proud dressing room in an abject shambles,
cutting skin upon many thousands of quite different perspectives,
each screaming a resounding lie to anyone willing to be manipulated for pleasure.