a consummate character actor
came to the footlight stage
his performances critically acclaimed
in entertainment's grand page

Burton nor Sir John Gielgud
had not a patch on his prowess
in all facets of the craft
this star did certainly impress

at The Crown Theatre he played
a bearded vagabond
who wandered the Yorkshire Dales
and further beyond

he received many an accolade
for a gripping role in "Where Is The Maid"  
the plot centred around
an English castle's moated ground

scripts by the score keep
flooding in each week
as directors love working
with the sensational Edward Deek

And so here it is:
My secrets, my fortune!
The untold treasure harbored within my mind--
impeccable wisdom, and tormented genius!

I come to find illumination
and write poems--
in such a fashion as this:

It is I,
with heart on my sleeve
where I cough and sneeze,
becoming mired and virulent--
utterly human and fraught
for the world to see.

The magician who empties his sleeves,
overturns his top hat,
shying off his smooth pallid gloves!

Lies down on stage,
in a pool of my own blood and *****,
retching, trembling, aching,

gasping for air
roasting under an inquisitive lonely spotlight
I stare into
with a distant and longing gaze--

Eyes vacuous,
bulbous in sick contortion bulging veins popping
cracked lips gaping mouth tongue waggling speaking in tongues
choking air and body trembling in hideous convulsions--

for what benefit have I,
to purport and distort myself
in such a fashion?

It is for the sake of humanity,
in the flagellation of the human conscience
as it queries further
into the ambiguous amorphous impalpable
dark matter of the universe--

it is for our sake,
our illumination,
that I retch, and I ache.

Take note.

I love the costume you wear
Discounted and undervalued
But I see it for its true colors
It's a method, a mood, a mystery
How after so much pain
You're still here somehow, and smiling.

I love the costume you wear
Ocean blue sadness
Veiled by the violet warmth of your acceptance
Indescribably beautiful melancholy
Like the sunrise I watched today
The night wistfully accepting the inevitable morning
Knowing that midnight's velvet comfort will once again return.

I love the costume you wear
But I wish you wouldn't hide your true colors within
Its fierce red curtained folds
Or behind those miserably memorized monologues that just don't ring true
It's like you've got stage fright but
The stage is yourself.

I love the costume you wear
But come with me
And let's dance until the pain glows like the sun and becomes beautiful
Until the moon lights your way and you are no longer afraid
Until the wind takes your hand and you can release the curtain and let go
Until you can drop the script and let your words fly like birds, of their own accord
And until you can embrace the world
With only your heart, your smile, and yourself
And dance beyond it all, freely.

The closet in the dim isolated room
Stores away so many of my bones
That store too many secrets for the
Weak hearted,
So each week I’m parted from demons
That are a part of too much of me.

But I can never see the difference, my two sides won’t show it.
It does so little to comfort me; what have I become?
Am I the walking dead and a watcher of the funeral of my smiles,
Whose continuous lives and illness discomfort and confuse all?
Am I fast asleep when dreams of a peaceful life take over?
Because I awake to find that I’m too stripped back and empty to find anything to give,
A signal I care, or knowing something has shifted
A tectonic plate in my brain,
Erupting the series of footsteps to the door
Of the insane, knocking furiously enough to break it.

The desperate pull of the veil over my mind
Disguises it as curtains for a show, a grand act.
I am the star of the leading role, too centred, too vain,
Perfect to match the unmatched mess I feel every day.
The genius illusion is that am I really acting?
Even I do not know.
The stage is my war zone; no man’s land,
Because I am obviously not human,
And I cannot let anyone else in.
It's bad comedy of a pathetic attempt at drama
For anyone willing to tolerate my oh so called woes.
I choke on the mixture of laughter and tears
I collect in a cracking overflowing jar and drink,
Getting intoxicated on my pity, and hazy on the self-mocking,
Gurgling manipulations of sharing the side dish
But also shoving away any takers.
I am greedy - I want it all to myself.

And to myself it shall remain.
I buy all the tickets and keep them to remind myself
How my dim isolated room shrinks with each entry,
How I refuse to give out any more keys.
Maybe the walking dead is what I am;
Surely life is not this lightless when it is lived.
At least I hope not.