In desolate places, I leave all my faces.
The masks and disguises, construction of lies.
The spotlight of fear, my delight and dimise.
As curtains close, applause fades,
alone with the shadows of self that pervades.
Ghosts of the past, that once were true.
Withered and lost, in my daily debut.
To please and to pleasure, a pointless measure.
Unable to escape, I'm asleep but awake.
I wriggle and writh in my own divide,
tearing apart from depths deep inside.
Empty halls and vacant seats,
angels and demons fatefully meet.
Crimson flows as roses fall,
the closing act as curtains call.
My death is rebirth, the dove and the crow,
a final bow at the end of my show.
