The Sharp Tooth of Truth

I stood atop of my pointed view and felt the sharp tooth of truth. How elegantly we lived the lie, a fictional legend always on the edge of a prequel. But the sharp tooth of truth really cuts the fat right down to the bone. So what now? the bitter taste of nonfiction or an unauthorized behind the scenes biography? No no no Biography…… what are you thinking, you’re not dead yet! There is no beauty in the truth nor secrets will she keep, just pointed teeth. And much darker than the ink that stains your fingers. Oh how the truth hurts, and not the good kind of pain. No not the pain that makes you wildly creative. Or the tickling sting of a smacked ass from one of those paperback nights. The sharp tooth of truth has no words, it’s just a dull ache. A dogmatic nervousness ready to argue with the will of an unreasonable child. You know you can’t bend it nor personify the truth, it’s much too matter of fact. But for us it’s the somatic experience that tells the tale rather than the context of the event. That’s what keeps us lost within the pages, riding the pulse of the story. So what are you going to do face it? Leave the audience hanging without an ending. You’re not an extra you know. You’re not that girl killed off just as the plot takes off. The one only remembered for her gruesome death and great ****, I can surly tell you no one remembers her name. And why should they? You going to join the watch of nightingales, singing your night song……. Off key karaoke at the bottom of a bottle of Bushmills. You can’t go out like that! You’re the star of this feature! Bide your time amongst the unkindness of Ravens, birds of a feather…. Ya know. Or they’ll peck the flesh right off your bones. Lets hear it for the props and the posers, how they served you well. But you certainly don’t need them anymore, this aint no dime store novel. You just gotta twist the truth, if you want to loosen her bite. It’s going to hurt like hell! But it certainly won’t lack in emotion. That’s all the fuel you’ll need to ignite this revival. So when the sharp tooth of truth releases her bite, and is finally pull from your waning thought. When the blood is pouring out, grab your fountain pen and plunge it into the wound. Draw up the blood and write the paper can be your salvation. And when the Jazz funeral passes you by, join the precession. Taste the music, feel the sound, all the way to the cemetery of creative writing. Art will rises up when credence subsides. This is when you know you have to make it up as you go along. When you reach grave throw in some ceremonial roses, turn to face the crowd and smile. For the show must go on.