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.

I walk in this dense realm, with shattered memory's of my past life.
The gods are afraid to come down into the dense wilderness.
Its grown Hard to escape this plain.
what are the memories trying to tell me!
This time I will come back with my horsemen, frequency's aligned.
Shifting into the next degree of time.
Is it impending doom or is it  just rebirth?
a next stage of evolution on this earth.
breaking walls, yet they took over the surface world.
The true nature of the world surfaces.
What is this vision trying to show me.
Should I climb the tree of life for answers?

You see them
—ravishing in their chosen craft and marvelous before your sight
Resplendent creatures born from the union of fabricated thoughts and witty artistry
Tantalizing celestials that grow larger,
making you feel like you're engulfed in their searing arms—
branding you with marks of inefficiency

You look down
—unsure of your own atrocious behavior and crude mimicry
Revolting are you, you believe with utmost conviction and undying self-loathing
A carnal wanton of jealousy,
insisting that you will never share the same grandeur as them—
and you miniscule yourself

You stand center stage,
—on a platform where an audience could only ridicule you from below
Unnerving is their unmerciful criticisms to your lithe skill of transformation
******* savages are they,
when oceans of daggers spill forth from their mouths—
prepared to plunge into shame

but this feeling you have in your chest,
that distinguished bass filled tune
is unmistakably and undeniably,
*Unrehearsed.

The stage has always been my home.
The great curtains acting as a dome.
Memorizing lines, my get away.
Until you came and thought you would stay.
It was alright for a while,
You were everything except vile.
Soon you became by hope.
Turning my world into your  kaleidoscope.
You swept me off my feet.
I learned the kinetic theory of heat.
That was just what you were doing.
My heart you were pursuing.
The curtains acted as a dome.
Then I made you my home.

*K.M.W.

Don’t bring me those bouquets
Don’t clap me off the stage
Because my tour is not yet done
Some parts are just begun.
That would just be so wrong.
I haven’t sung my last song.
You must never forget,
I’m not quite done yet.

I need no one to carry me
It’s not time to bury me
In celebratory flowers
I’ve still got a few hours
Left for me in the spotlight
Tonight is not my last night.
Thought I’ve had my regrets
I’m not really done yet.

There are so many songs inside me
And melodies that will guide me
They want to come out whole
From deep inside my soul
But one thing I am certain
Don’t bring down that final curtain.
I’ve got more numbers to do
And I worked them up just for you.

As long as the crowd is willing
As long as I’m still killing
As you can still hear the applause
There is plenty of righteous cause
To keep the orchestra playing.
That’s all that I am saying.
I promise you won’t regret
That I am not quite done yet.
I’m not quite done yet.

Worn converses scuff the floor.
     The crowd sings, and they roar
     his name. Things aren't the same
     like anonymous Mondays before.

He pulls out his strings. Silence.
Steel vibrates and sings; Violence
erupts and again he hears his name.
It isn't the same... but he finds it
strangely fitting; On this stage
he's the benefactor and the tyrant.
He's the laughter, killing quiet.
It's not your average Monday
but no surprise, he finds he likes it.

People  in painted faces

        living in quiet repression

        sharing a silent depression

unspeakable

        Insufferable.

Chained to their false personas by fear

        playing pretend, always losing the game

Reality intervenes

And just as soon it slips away

    effervescence

        a dark fantasy  in with all the

        characters are frauds.

The world is a stage

        the audience knows all the secrets

        the actors think they hide so well