i lie awake at night, sometimes. and i wonder. what role i’ll play next time.
if i’ll be your contortionist. dodging the bullets as they come, all for your amusement. i did that once, and i think you liked it.
or if tonight, i’ll be your hapless lion tamer. because i’m told the skyscraper avenues; the men in their crisp, white suits are hungry for blood.
so i’ll jump through their hoops. i’ll get down, on my hands and knees, and beg them for a smidgen of approval. tell them that
i’ll be your favourite one-woman show. a constant, golden spectacle. and i’ll dance myself right to the edge of death, just for you. i’ll walk the knife’s edge, for a couple spare bucks. because that’s what good girls do.