The curtain falls, a veil between
Thinly drawn emotions, more than they seem.

Her hair falls to shade a radiant face,
I cannot scream in a hollow place.

He loves me true, he loves me not.
The stage lights up, I want his passion hot.

Or cold?
She fears this is getting old.

In likeness of a failing fight,
Fly then run, walking through a torn night.

"It's normal" I say to the soul in my eyes,
But I cry that night, but everyone cries.

I don't think he does, and so do you,
On top of all this I must watch my own heart too?

It's normal I tell her, but this lie I have loved isn't
I bleed from my heart.
I plead for my art.
Is it normal to crash down, feeling so distant?

This play put on by us in youth,
This show of passions, far from absolute truth.

The vapor pours from their thin lips,
The smoke clears, black gold cascading from her hips.

Is it normal to crawl against the wall?
To bite at the night and scream and call?

Call for his name to pierce the dark,
To open the curtain, to erase the mark.

Her windows, thrown wide, show the same play as me,
And shut they hold all of my fragility.

That night I fought my own skirmish hard,
That night fate dealt you a burning card.

Is it normal? This lavish dance?
These worrying minds in the vast expanse.
It may not be normal. Or maybe, it is...
Maybe our minds are just torn like his.