the stage is set.
lights turn up.
the sound of cheering breaks over the crowd.
pull back the curtain and out i go.
always fearing that certain "no."
i take my place among the cast.
never knowing if it'll last.
yet again i put on the face.
watching frantically as i pace.
this time it isn't the same.
i'm going crazy, far from sane.
i get stared down while i play.
pretending that everything's ok.
soon the curtain will far down...
and then my performance will not count.
it seems as though it never did.
that's all i got, that is fucking it.
I don't have a whole lot to write about. It seems the poetry bug has hit me. Inspiration at the most akward times. Go fucking figure.
Death Cab lyric-
My brain's repeating "if you've got an impulse let it out", But they never make it past my mouth.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
.jpg)
1 comment:
Good post. Overture. Curtains. Lights. This is it, we'll hit the heights. And, oh, what heights we'll hit, on with the show, this is it.
Post a Comment