I am a a toy in your hands. A novelty to dance and sing. The fool on stage to quote a line or two and smile away at you. But the curtain draws and the toy grows old. I walk the empty stage and the audience has left, leaving silence, the loudest of sounds. When the costume is off and the truth of me is shown. I hang my head in shame and long to vanish into nowhere. Perhaps it is just a paranoia but it leaks into my core and I don't know where to hide when I cannot hide from myself. Perhaps I fear the toy will one day lose its shine and become another dusty figurine hanging on the wall with the rest of those who live in grey. I hope not.