SYCOPHANT:
"Take it all... it's yours. I made it for you!"
There's a sycophant in the kitchen' sputters and turns around. Nothing much to say.
I stand and smile as he turns and continues on his way. Converstation ended. It's all the talk de jour; nothing too distinguishing, nothing entirely profound, nothing much by way. I'm not riled. A bit perturbed, but it's always this way. Never ending... ad nauseum.
Sycophant, beautiful.
There's another on the back porch; a chest that heaves by way to say, "take it all... I'm yours."
Turning around and back into the fit, thinking "Can't even get some air around here." I decide to explore an altered melt. I let her talk away, my foot tracing the ground, I let her have her way. I'm not riled. A bit put out, but it's got to be this way.
Happy ending... in nausea.
June 2002, Michael Anderson
(original story version of song from 'Kill the Lights')
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