Cheers, he says,
glass in hand.
A toast to your risky venture.
You mimic him,
raise your own,
and give him one last smile.

See you on the other side.

Together you drink,
together you fall.
Maybe if you’re lucky,
you’ll reunite.

The last time you dreamed,
it was of flowers.
Petals vibrant yet
soft against your skin,
oleander and belladonna.

You wonder,
eyes slipping shut,
what you’ll see this time.

You hope it will be him.

I am the one behind the curtain.
Levers and buttons and tricks,
exhausted and flustered,
but still pushing onwards.

Maintain the illusion,
protect the legacy.
I am neither
omniscient or omnipotent,
but needs must.

Appearances can be deceiving,
lies can be well intended.
At the very least,
I will dance my way to Hell.

Until then,
take a seat.
Until then,
watch the show.

The Great and Powerful
will grant your wish–
(but only if you choose wisely)

jacksgreyson, Word Promts (P26): Poison

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