Death of a thespian - Themselves

The sun

The sky

The music

The people

The one…

They’ve all come for the movement and offer silence

Make them stand…

The make believe me troubadour

And his visceral ties to patronage

A flame in the harsh ritual of theater…

Scrutinies pierce vulnerable poise oh so helpless…

To hide this gasp, the curtains devil crimson eats valor

And dazzle of my play acting, mystery stiffens…

Embellished my gilded embarrassment…

Must i dwindle in the pixie fine light heart of pageant…

Decay… decay…decay…

Fair self you taunt the plush maternity of legend…

It is yours to extinguish…

It is yours to endear…

Pretend… the night sky

The interpretive day

Disguise… forced, so devout and rarely felt…

Perspective… dripping with a masterless man…

Deceptive pleasuring want… so genuine…

I’m desire the incredible beggar, warm in and of my costume…

We lay and touch legs for flesh pedaling…

For tortures of queens and the staffs that make them whole…

Appreciate the cruelty is why…

Guilt a censor becoming… of broadaxe and blood spray…

Wish is choice hollow… obey…

Our war is but to entertain

You see me close them catch light and… pulse through stone

Heave for me and my bosom… your weird prostitute…

Hold them deep… capturing breaths…

Among a one shall never hunger in the vile of savage bath again…

To this i give all to one… to have…

My pieces… shrieking stolen… fallen…a flicker in craze… passing away

In fulfillment it did roll… and it was shed…

Clenched forgiving about its hilt… they

The iron life’s work tears still through…

Clean through… deadly…drove into the wood block…

A gash gathers… the muscle… the bone… the severed…

Halts and forms a pool to end in… and it flows…

And one tear falls… in the silence they are wide open…

Empty and still giving…