Singers

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I'm not speaking. Not today.

I'll let my throat rest. There there.

I know I deserve a moment's peace

From the noise, the chatter. Who doesn't 

deserve a day alone with their voice?

The musicians will have to wait.

Give me a cigarette.

You know, something's been troubling me as of late. 

My voice is starting to sound like yours.

Not that yours is all that terrible. Or bad, even. 

Just. I prefer my voice to yours. 

Pass me those matches.

It's been a long year and, though my suffering 

Is small (a kitten eating a butterfly, really), 

This engine runs on fire.

A cigarette heals the hunt in the skin.

The silence left behind's forgotten now,

And everything happened years and years ago.

Some nights I dream of simpler times than these,

Those days of anonymity, those days

When I could walk the streets and show my face.

Some nights I hear the God approach my bed.

She slips beneath the covers, holds me close,

And curls Her wings around me, my throat.