MONOLOGUE: Likeable Poison.

Likeable Poison.

When you’re young you dream of many things, you could be anything you want in the world when you’re young. When I was young I dreamt of being old, not so old that my life was over but old enough to be recognised as a chaotic mess that lived a life of journeys in my mind created by the likeable poisons that I would pay for with money, body and soul. You see my dream was to live a life faster than the fast lane, to an extent where my whole existence was a blur even to those unwilling to take the likeable poisons. I wanted to wear the clothes that made no sense, to wake up and decide that that day I was or a man or a woman, to have my hair untamed, to wear make-up that turned my expressions into puzzles. You know in movies with the girl on the back of a motorcycle, holding on to her man’s waist, closing her eyes as the world went through her hair and past her in a breeze, well that was want I wanted each day to represent. The world is a miserable and dull place, why not take poisons to brighten them up? What wasn’t to dream about with broken rules and darkened humour? Why not indulge in the unwanted and unknown when it would take me to places without me even having to leave the spot I collapse in?  To me my life was nothing. Just nothing. I was doing what I was supposed to, that deadly routine, a routine that could drive small children to insanity by the time they became 30. Leather was my dream, my goal. Sid was my idol. I wanted to be a Nancy, a Kate, a Janis. Instead I was hinged and nailed to everyday life, stuck like a picture. Now I would give anything to tell you that’s what I achieved, this life that some would consider fucked and failed, in a way I guess I did. I found my likeable poison, I indulged and over fed, I dressed like a man and flaunted like a woman. Yet I never found my leather, I never lived a life faster than speed itself. I’m still here. Just nothing.  Just a kid in an old body, broken by a dream. A dream that has absorbed me, obsessed me, I don’t need to be the dream. I have some aspects of the rock and the star, not all, but some and in a small way that can be enough. I realised my dream could never be fulfilled, because then what would I live for except poison. That’s not a purpose or a goal. It’s just the same as eating dinner every day. I need this dream to survive, to pretend, to live not outside but inside my mind. I know the leather is there, the earthly breeze is coming and the poison has finally kicked in. So imagine that girl on the back of that bike is an old woman, the wind is just a light draft coming from a fan next to her that she uses to dry the sweat of her face, the motorcycle just an old and ugly chair and the room so still it’s like time doesn’t exists, just a constant still. Miserable right? It doesn’t matter though. I never sold my soul, so I still have that. It will help me survive they say. I will survive. I’ll survive feeding off the rest of my mind, as I know the leather is there, the earthly breeze is coming and the poison has finally kicked in.

END.

Original Words by Sonni Carpenter.

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