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untitled.808

A story about a musician who gets into some trouble.

By Ari Asha LovePublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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I woke up in a room, completely dark and to my knowledge, very empty.

Unsure of how I got here, I tried not to conjure up anxiety.

The only glimmer of light that existed was green,

And it flashed every so often in sequence.

I was able to recall my steps,

And remember where things went left.

I was walking home from work

And took a route I didn't know.

Before I could think I was in a strange place.

A man in a van looked at me with delight on his face.

Am I being trafficked?

Did I offend somebody important?

Are they gonna murder me?

These questions appeared in my head

And it was nearly impossible not to dread

The possibility of what could happen

Was just too much not to fret.

Did they not like my new single?

I had heard about superfans so many times before.

But I couldn't imagine making someone so upset

That they'd want to harm me and keep me cold.

The light flickered before my eyes, and it let me know how big the room was.

Then the thought came to me that this was the government,

And somehow they had probable cause.

I had said some things in my music,

But I was sure they had to know

It was just for the bars.

I'm not sure how long I was in there for,

But it really felt like so long.

The green light kept me company,

And I was tempted to make a temporary beat

With its patterns.

Eventually,

Some man walked through the door,

Which hid behind the green light somehow.

I found myself in a padded room,

All white and bland.

I could only see so much

Of what was on the other side of the door;

For whatever light source was there

Shone so bright I could barely even see.

The room's light turned on as the door closed behind him.

It was a bright green fluorescent light spread out across the ceiling.

How did I get here?

I could not remember much of what happened before this.

This man was wearing a suit,

And he held out his hand as he entered the room.

I looked at him with shock

And asked him what he planned to do.

"Nothing. I just have a few questions for you."

"Questions."

There was a table and chairs farthest away from the little green light

And we walked toward it;

He faced the now invisible door.

His old wrinkly skin

And the devilish grin on his face

Just made my skin crawl.

"First question. Why did you do it?"

"I don't know what I did."

"You know. Having that song be on the extended album? Teach Me How To Dance is a beautiful composition, sir."

"What?" I was confused. "Are you serious?"

"No. But also yes."

"Huh?"

"I am a huge fan, sir, honestly. But we are here to discuss other things."

"Okay.."

"Sir, why were you name dropping?"

"Really? Is that illegal somehow? What about copyright?"

"No, but it's so messy, sir. At least change the real name or something."

"Okay..Am I free to go? What are we doing here?"

"You have to sign my chest before you go."

He unbuttoned his shirt and I was so flabbergasted.

"Dude, I don't know what this is but I need to leave."

"Don't you name drop again, or you will see my face again and it won't be pleasant."

"Ummm."

"I mean it. And do watch it with the copyright. You better make more emails."

"You can't make me do that. Copyright, obviously. But I can name drop all I want in my music. Who the hell are you?"

"Fine. You sure you don't want to be more careful with your names?"

He took out some sharp device

And my eyes nearly fell out of my head.

I then took a moment to breathe, recoiling from the table.

"Dude. You're not gonna do shit."

The man's face turned extremely sour

And I was thoroughly unprepared for what was to come.

"What the fudge!" I exclaimed as the blood squirted out my detached finger.

I had never felt so much pain at a singular moment;

It was a bit scary.

"Who are you with? This can't be okay!" I tried to stay awake

But I blacked out from the experience.

When I awoke, I was back in my apartment

With a bandaged pinky finger

And a botched up memory,

I sat there pondering the mental stage of some individuals.

How could someone be so attached to my music.

I got my finger cut and put back together

Because of the lyrics I use in my music.

Wow.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Ari Asha Love

Been writing all my life but the question is whether or not I truly take it seriously.

You can find me on most social media platforms as afroqueergod :)

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