Arrows
by Tony Plocido and Amy Kosciuszko
“For thine arrows stick fast in me,
and thy hand presseth me sore.”
~ Psalms 38:2
Him:
It hasn't worked for me lately.
I thrive on stately yet
inept performances.
The doorman says good evening
and I sneer; for fear that he hates my face.
I taste the acid in his stare.
How did I get there?
To the point where I am always
sizing you up. Life hasn't been
so tough and yet my bravado
get shown in multiple staccato punches.
Little bunches of sunshine
come at the cost of being unkind.
If I could just remember your face.
The way it looked in this place.
I could pace circles around you now.
Your furled brow and hateful words
would fly past like birds,
if we were to argue.
I grew 10 inches in the last year.
Every last tear is washed away
and now I say what's your arrow, baby?
How will you shoot me this time?
I have a mind to find five divine
kinds of intervention. This may
bring unwanted attention; but
it may also bring back my soul.
Her:
Where is your soul?
Does it know any bounds?
You speak of this soul like it’s something
you found on the side of the highway
doused in glitter and lipstick-
A damsel, a sanctum,
a savior for your limp dick.
(Amazing Grace how sweet the noise
That saved my heart from all the boys
like you.)
How did I get here?
To the point where I’m unclear
where I end and you begin.
I find pieces of myself
in places you have been.
I’m all over this town.
I'm up
I'm down
It's got me.
and I don’t remember when
I stopped recognizing my body.
For every inch you grew,
I lost two. I’m small enough now
that I slip through
the cracks in your apologies.
So how could you remember me?
I don’t know my own face
unless it reflects a space
where men obsess
and leave me subjected.
Objectified
by their bad taste and discussion points
about souls.
And the bows drawn,
are you ready to fight?
A battle of words and a hope
that we might make this all work?
Make this all hurt? Make us
all find worth in this dearth
insanity?
Or have I been shot so many times
that you can see right through me?
Him:
I can't see anything.
I'm blinded and binded
to the fact that I have to attack
you.
Even with what you're going through,
I have to stay true
to the manufactured hatred.
I took so much time
trying to make it. It's a part
of my heart and my fists
and my words and my piss.
I wish your fall would continue.
This whirlwind, in you,
would just suck you away.
But I want you to stay.
There are so many ways that
we'll never be separated.
I always knew if I hesitated
I would feel this.
A meal this good never
comes without the heartburn.
By why won't my heart learn?
You're the devil in a
beautiful dress. A mess
of ecstasy, lost love
and shitty service. I must
deserve this. I just can't
for the life of me
remember why.
Her:
Your selective memory
has been kind to me.
You’re so inclined to be
much too refined for me.
Bear in mind that
we never had a chance
of making it. But
we keep on faking it and
building our emotions like shrines--
Small devotions, for something
we don’t believe in.
That shit is a sin and
my heart is a maggot.
It beats out of habit and
eats at the baggage that keeps us affected.
We were only connected through
mutual self-loathing.
So what’s that you’re holding on to?
Aren’t you used to
what we go through?
I hate you then need you,
Deflate you, then feed you.
Maybe you should just drop it.
Him and Her:
As this volley of arrows
barrels down on us,
we only trust our hearts.
And this
is the catalyst
for why we were torn apart.
and thy hand presseth me sore.”
~ Psalms 38:2
Him:
It hasn't worked for me lately.
I thrive on stately yet
inept performances.
The doorman says good evening
and I sneer; for fear that he hates my face.
I taste the acid in his stare.
How did I get there?
To the point where I am always
sizing you up. Life hasn't been
so tough and yet my bravado
get shown in multiple staccato punches.
Little bunches of sunshine
come at the cost of being unkind.
If I could just remember your face.
The way it looked in this place.
I could pace circles around you now.
Your furled brow and hateful words
would fly past like birds,
if we were to argue.
I grew 10 inches in the last year.
Every last tear is washed away
and now I say what's your arrow, baby?
How will you shoot me this time?
I have a mind to find five divine
kinds of intervention. This may
bring unwanted attention; but
it may also bring back my soul.
Her:
Where is your soul?
Does it know any bounds?
You speak of this soul like it’s something
you found on the side of the highway
doused in glitter and lipstick-
A damsel, a sanctum,
a savior for your limp dick.
(Amazing Grace how sweet the noise
That saved my heart from all the boys
like you.)
How did I get here?
To the point where I’m unclear
where I end and you begin.
I find pieces of myself
in places you have been.
I’m all over this town.
I'm up
I'm down
It's got me.
and I don’t remember when
I stopped recognizing my body.
For every inch you grew,
I lost two. I’m small enough now
that I slip through
the cracks in your apologies.
So how could you remember me?
I don’t know my own face
unless it reflects a space
where men obsess
and leave me subjected.
Objectified
by their bad taste and discussion points
about souls.
And the bows drawn,
are you ready to fight?
A battle of words and a hope
that we might make this all work?
Make this all hurt? Make us
all find worth in this dearth
insanity?
Or have I been shot so many times
that you can see right through me?
Him:
I can't see anything.
I'm blinded and binded
to the fact that I have to attack
you.
Even with what you're going through,
I have to stay true
to the manufactured hatred.
I took so much time
trying to make it. It's a part
of my heart and my fists
and my words and my piss.
I wish your fall would continue.
This whirlwind, in you,
would just suck you away.
But I want you to stay.
There are so many ways that
we'll never be separated.
I always knew if I hesitated
I would feel this.
A meal this good never
comes without the heartburn.
By why won't my heart learn?
You're the devil in a
beautiful dress. A mess
of ecstasy, lost love
and shitty service. I must
deserve this. I just can't
for the life of me
remember why.
Her:
Your selective memory
has been kind to me.
You’re so inclined to be
much too refined for me.
Bear in mind that
we never had a chance
of making it. But
we keep on faking it and
building our emotions like shrines--
Small devotions, for something
we don’t believe in.
That shit is a sin and
my heart is a maggot.
It beats out of habit and
eats at the baggage that keeps us affected.
We were only connected through
mutual self-loathing.
So what’s that you’re holding on to?
Aren’t you used to
what we go through?
I hate you then need you,
Deflate you, then feed you.
Maybe you should just drop it.
Him and Her:
As this volley of arrows
barrels down on us,
we only trust our hearts.
And this
is the catalyst
for why we were torn apart.