If the whole world is a stage then I’m a stooge

Failing to engage with my given role,

But it was you whole stole my limelight under the stage lights

I lost count of the stage frights, the false starts, the poison chalice of performance arts.

I’m not considering this audience, they are mere ornaments

Grounding me to each shifting reality I take on

Here in this undeserving platform

Where we worship the wish to escape, the innate desire to further rekindle the fire

Without thinking, I’m sinking my teeth into the lead:

The previous player had been drinking heavily while your heavenly, hypnotic blinking

Displays the pinnacle of professionalism, it’s almost poetic:

This schism.

So count the beats and practice your lines to an auditorium of empty seats

But nothing can compete with the real thing

In your hand holds a sword and I feel so judged and exposed

For the fraud that I am.

Toward the prop I am facing while my heart is racing and you thrust forward

Flesh encasing the steel. If what I feel isn’t real then how can I be certain

That we’ll cease the acting after every final curtain.



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