It starts with a cigarette
Pressed to his lips
Held between finger tips
He’s nervous
Fidgets, knees weak
You’re up
Tosses butt
Walks across stage
With confidence that isn’t real
Carries himself well for a wreck
They don’t know that two hours ago
He held a gun to his head
Glances at crowd of lit eyes
He’s afraid
Reaches for drink
What they think is water
Is in actuality
Pure grain alcohol
Questions himself
Why do I do this?
Why am I here?
Reaches for mic with sweaty palms
Grips it like a whiskey bottle
He wishes he was holding something else
Wishes it was her but, she’s taken
Audience patient
Anticipating the sound of words
He begins
Spewing lines of drunken mind
Unorganized verse
Half thoughts and broken metaphors
They don’t like it
Crowd silent
He continues
But in his mind they don’t like it, don’t like him
Why does he care
Wait, what’s that?
A node, yes!
He presses forth
Oh, another node, yes! Another
Yes!
They’re feeling it
Yes!
They understand
Adrenaline rises
He surprises himself with energy
They’re behind him
He’s rhyming with
Timing and precision
He’s relieved as he finishes
Takes a deep breath
Says thank you for listening
Puts mic back on stand as
Hands come together
Making music that hugs his ears
It’s an embrace he needed
Calmly walks off stage holding back tears
Leaves venue, goes to bar
Knows that the joy was momentary
Is grateful for the night
Knowing that tomorrow
Whether he’s performing or not
The process starts over again
BY OSCAR TORRES LEON
Leave a Reply