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States of Alienation: A Soliloquy (Revised)

[Lights rise on a lone speaker, dust motes drifting in a single bulb’s glow.]

I step into the glare. The hush falls. And I ask:
what do we do with shadows in the mirror?
they coil at the edges, settle behind our questions.  

(Beat.)  

We borrow frames from film noir—
lace our days with soft voice-overs,
drag suitcases of longing
down corridors of memory.
In our minds, the projector drones
a monochrome hymn to the pieces of ourselves
we’ve yet to reclaim.  

(Beat.)  

Beneath the streets of October,
a hidden clinic stitches pavements
with moonlight and murmurs.
Up here, we’re untamed—
footsteps echoing off the walls
of our secret pens.  

(Softens.)  

Our inimitable contrivances—
words carved on old metal drums,
rhythms pulsing behind our ribs—
surface whenever we dare not speak
truths too bright for our own bones.  

(Beat builds.)  

So tell me, friends:
are we healing, or rehearsing
another vanishing act
under the marquee of self-doubt?  

(Whispers.)  

I want to tear down that marquee.
I want a dawn that doesn’t scorch my face.
To stand unguarded in sunrise,
feel the earth pulsing beneath my soles,
and greet the day without flinching.  

(Beat.)  

That’s the stunt, isn’t it?
building a daybreak that won’t betray us,
passing our loads hand to hand
until the weight lightens,
and the shadows shrink
back into the mirror—
just reflections, nothing more.  

[Lights fade to black.]

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