All Beautiful Women-Are a Concept Made Up From The Use of Red Pills
At first I did it for the money.
Within a few days…it was just to see her.
It was the third day
Of the six week trial.
As we met,
She gave me a red pill
“Hey! It’s the same color as your nail polish.
Ironically my wife wore the same color.”
She replied with a whisper.
It mimicked the phonics used in
As the weeks proceeded
The nail polish chipped away.
By the end of my six week trial
There was nothing left of it.
Except for red-spikes
At the tips
Of her nails.
“How bout you re-paint your nails
And we go on a date? ”
Her chestnut eyes
Glossed over. They looked past
My aged, wrinkled, brow
To something behind me.
I didn’t have the courage to ask
What it was, or the tongue to question.
She knew I was a coward.
“No.” Was all she said.
As weeks went by
I saw red spikes on everything.
They vandalized my sanity!
Appearing at the tips
Of my hairstylist’s eyelashes.
Slithering like a snake
With the golden streaks
That touched the Earth
Even in the organized words and images
Of my Bible.
Fate was forcing me to find her.
And I did that.
I went to find her.
I sprinted in through the door,
With a bouquet of a dozen red roses
In my hand. I held them tight enough
That I reamed water from the stems.
It settled into the calluses on my palms.
And I searched.
Running through the hallways
Screaming like a madman
For my beloved!
Two security guards
Were ordered to escort me
Off property. They stood on
Opposite ends of me. Forcing
Me into the middle.
I tried to keep with their pace,
But my aged knees couldn’t do it.
Every time I would fall behind-one of the guards
Placed their hand on my back
And pushed…till I was caught up.
Then we passed her office! A sudden joy beat my heart
To cardiac arrest standards. It ceased as I stared into the doorway
And met eyes with a tall, male, doctor. He gasped and dropped the clipboard
He was holding. We left his view, but within seconds heard footsteps
Jogging up behind us. It was the doctor. He stopped to catch his breath
Then handed me a folded up, piece of paper.
I stashed it in my pocket.
The security guards
Gave me one last push-together. As I stumbled out the door
For a few steps.
I took the note from my pocket
And un-folded it.
In typical doctor scribbles
Were the lines:
Remember. One of the side effects
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Comments about this poem (All Beautiful Women-Are a Concept Made Up From The Use of Red Pills by A.j. Binash )
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