Well the stages
Were lit for these people
And those pages,
Demanded another sequel.

The stroke of a pen,
The swipe of a blade,
Dare to do this again?
Do I let myself be afraid?

Each sequential simile,
Painted the portrait
That was given to me
of emotional anguish and torture.

While sunbathing in the shadows
I let the thoughts consume me
And as I'm alone, praying not to explode,
I remember the way that you'd hold me.

I was breathing, speaking, hurting,
a mask behind a rugged shell that was forgiving,
But under a slight gap in an undrawn curtain,
I was struggling, grieving, and tired of living.

The stage was roaring,
Viewers were watching, laughing,
And as I watched their smiles soaring,
I convinced myself to stop cutting.*
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I am not one day closer to death
I am having one extra day of living
And if I shall witness my final breath
I am leaving this world singing.