Introspection is a hazardous
endeavor. If you pick too much
at the cracks in your character
you are likely to pull them apart
and underneath is everything
you hate about yourself, out in
the open now, rearing its ugly
head for all to witness. Yet here
I am, picking at the cracks. I am
pulling down the walls and I am
breaking all of the locks that bind
my character to the role that I have
played too well and too long. The
method acting needs an end. I am not
who I portray and I am not who I prefer,
but who I have grown to hate,
and that rotting of my person has become
a detriment not only to myself but to
all that are in contact with me. It is time
to cut the tree back down to the trunk
and get rid of the *******, the foliage
that covers up the bare, naked truth.
I am not who I pretend to be. I am not
who I prefer to be. I have twisted into
a creature that I hate, simply because you
hate and simply because you hurt. And
that is unacceptable. So the act must end,
and the man must begin, I am only scared
that if you hate the man underneath the act,
then there will be no other face to take the blame,
and nowhere else to hide.
But something's got to give.