i yearn for the sweet release.
it sounds fake or quirky, i know
hell, i even make it a part of my humor,
but deep down,
really deep down,
i can’t escape it.
the feeling of waking up,
moving along with the day;
i cannot live
wishing i was dead
therefore i think this is it.
my final curtain.
my friends
my family
were never to blame
in fact, i’d say they made it
a little more entertaining. life that is.
however, when talking about
“death” you get the same speech
“you’re young, you’ll never understand”
“you don’t understand true sadness”
they never truly see your side
you could have felt these feelings
since forever
but no one truly understands
nor do they care.
you have to go through with it right?
no one can save you now.
no one will be your light
unless you pull back the curtain.
pull it back and let the stage lights shine through
for when you finally see your audience
the people who love
you will finally feel that bit of
peace
even if it takes a while
you will find your peace
and i will find mine

The gilded age watching over
The laughs echoing from the stage,
The lights dancing as they turn the page
Transition to the next game, checkmate.

I've been here the whole time
We've been discussing the Bidet
And the cult following they accrued
A total of thirty followers ensued
Enough to make a documentary.

A burgundy suit all picked out
For a wedding in June to Jess and...Jess,
All ready in a chic black dress,
All the suggestions flow and go and know
And the audience rings with participation
With suggestions--with bait.

Hook line and sinker, baby,
Knock it out for the win,
Come on roll us the dice
And spin us some sin.

Back through the tunnel,
Lights through a funnel,
Guiding the way, pushing away,
Away from King's Theatre
Away from the laughs,
Away from Sam and Sam and
Jacob and Jeremy's spats,
Away from Lou and Kimia too,
Vic is left on the stage shrugging,
Away from them too.
Giavani, a ******* queen,
And Shutup! Kurt needs to say something...
I love you all and to thine self be true
There will be nothing like this performance ever again,
And that memory is thanks to you.

It was a sparkler,
Alone in the night,
With our laughter we held it alight,
It burned for longer,
Longer than eight nights,
The oil from the latkes
a bubbling, browned delight.

A moment in time,
A moment of laughter,
A moment of silence before the disaster,
A time and a place and a place for the memories,
Don't underestimate the time you spent here.
Remember everything you can and hold it dear.
Cherish the improvisation,
The luck, the dice, the trolls, the rights,
Let it all simmer,
Take it to a boil
Under these spotlights.

We tangled in tropes,
two archetypes in love with the idea of change,
but never the act itself.

You thought I was the manic pixie dream girl,
a glittering deus ex machina sent to save you
with whimsy and wild eyes,
but I was just tired—
carrying too many rewrites in my pockets,
each one heavier than the last,
all of them missing their endings.

I thought you were the brooding antihero,
mystery wrapped in shadow,
a walking epilogue with smoldering regret,
but you were just scared—
your silence a monologue
no audience could bear to sit through,
your pauses dragging like curtain calls
for plays that never finished.

We wrote each other into scenes
with props we didn’t know how to use,
a wine glass left unbroken,
a door no one ever slammed.
The spotlight flickered between us,
a dim bulb refusing to hold
all the things we wouldn’t say.

When the script fell apart,
we blamed the writer,
the lighting, the set—
anything but the truth:
we were always the ones
tearing pages from the book,
ripping them before the ink had time to dry,
our story left trailing ellipses,
a script still curled on the floor,
waiting for hands that never returned.

As you step into my world, forget the girl
I once was. here I'm a goddess. Here
I'm seen.
The bright lights shine on my face,
on my spirit. and fear leaves my body.
The music starts, possessing me.
i sway to the tune, melodies controlling
my movement.
From my smile, raw and genuine, a
song comes out: an old song.
it's a sad song.
a song of love.
it's a tragedy.
Watch me sing it anyway.
for past my glossy eyes,
my soul has never felt more alive.
but when you leave, forget what you've seen.
go back to knowing nothing about me.

I waited for hours in an office lobby,
Just for them to tell me there was no cure for what I was suffering.
I walked a mile,
In another man’s shoes.
So I walked to  another,
To the next doctor,
Just to be told again, that there was no cure.

Wendy; My shadow is too heavy, can you fix it?
Doctor; Shadows don’t weigh anything.
Wendy; Mine does.
And it’s getting bigger.

I waited again,
Yet still the answer was the same.
That there was no cure,
For the sad music I hear in my ear,
That makes me age hundreds of years.
It makes it seem like my mind is run by rusted gears,
It must be from storing the salt for my tears.

Mother; I thought you were sleeping.
Wendy: I was being sad.
…
Wendy; I’m not always sad.

I didn’t go to another office,
I ran out of ones to walk to.
Running is a concept I never understood,
Why are you always running from, or to?
Why can’t I just run,
Away from nothing, for I have nothing to run from.
To nothing, because I have no more things to run to.

Detective; Can you fly?
Wendy; I could,
I don’t think I can anymore.
Detective; That sounds dangerous.
Wendy; It is.
Was
Detective; What can you tell me about him?

Why can’t they make a medicine,
That makes you forget?
I don’t mean alcohol,
I just asked to forget, not to destroy the place in my mind where the memory was.
Why can’t they make a syrup,
It could taste like peppermint.
That you take at night,
And wake up and forget.

Wendy; I asked you to stay.
Peter; Did you?

Cuando la noche es gris y fría,
te espero como esperaría
un atardecer colorido cada día.

Cuando la montaña se vuelve traicionera,
me aferro a ti como a una piedrita
que me ayudará y salvará mi vida.

Pero cuando esta ciudad se vuelve demasiado exigente,
¿serán nuestro amor el teatro
al final de cada agotador mes?

Y cuando la vida se vuelve
demasiado implacable,
¿sería este hogar el confesionario
o la iglesia al fin de cada semana horrible?

Pero cuando la música se detenga
y todo deje de ser divertido,
¿me seguirás abrazando,
manteniéndome a salvo del frío?

Y cuando el telón cae
y el escenario se oscurece,
¿te quedarás aquí conmigo
hasta que veamos el amanecer?

in the morning, i will feign ignorance,
pretending to be fast asleep and unaware
as you pull on your shirt and socks

we should have been theater concentrators, like,
if we never talk about it, it just never happened
you're just so nonchalant, and i'm just melodramatic

and i'm never satisfied unless it's something tragically comic
so tonight, let's pretend to be enemies, let's become lovers,
let's drown in shared regrets, get too familiar with each other

after all, tomorrow, when we wake, it'll all be over
your missing friends and my crushing hangover
will, once again, inevitably, reduce us to strangers

Dramatic I strike my deep bow
Stage lights warming the back of my neck

      Another show finished
              And time for the next

I change costumes and greet the regular cast
Shaking hands and reading scripts

      Finally… my cue, I exit stage left
              Passing the curtains, Sighing in relief