curtain call.



They all saw it coming.
I live in denial,
in a once-lovely townhouse,
now devoured by madness,
eaten away by years I should have left.

Blue lights fade away,
my feet stumbling through the rubble,
splinters of dressers,
cracked marble plaques,
shreds of sanity.

Feeling like an actor,
or an audience member,
as the stage revealed before me,
numb as I’ve always been,
doubting my role.

I see a button on the top stair,
and laugh uncontrollably,
wondering when this life,
won’t resemble a Greek tragedy,
or a cheap soap opera.

Bruises on my body,
will fade eventually,
unlike the memory,
of the last act of a desperate man,
his performance of a lifetime.

Yet, it doesn’t touch me,
as it should,
for I am exhausted of men,
unsure of whether to applaud,
or take a bow.

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17 thoughts on “curtain call.

  1. If my words be of service
    My heart be it in them
    But finding solice in spoken truths
    Is easier said than done

    For if the story of our lives
    Be a tragedy, Play On!
    For maybe it’s our duty
    As the actors to sing our song

    As the spotlight burns us bright
    While they stare and watch us still
    We’ll sing from our hearts with fear
    And laugh at the irony of ‘freewill”

say something to me.

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