The dressing in the window is shadowed by the right corner door
Calling to the left sun he screams for more of less and for the floor to be lit
Like the bottom of ballerinas faces when they're sprayed by the stagelights.
He cries a last note to the minor scale blues number, switching to bass
And closing the gap between what he really knew and what he couldn’t face, he floats home
and up a stair,
Pulling down the sheet over the two pairs of killing drones, the lovers eyes
And regardless of the broken mirrors and the lucks flailing failing dream vain, he will not try
To quit.

I look in the mirror
To see a young boy
Masquerading
Typecasted into roles with
Skin-crawling costume design
Constricting and waist-binding
The seams searing the skin
Molded to meet the suffocating criteria
There is sorrow deep in his eyes
Knowing he has deceived and deluded
And performed this scene for far too long
Acting restlessly in a futile effort to belong
But he was never meant for this role
The blinding stagelights and heavy curtain
Even if he will miss the roses and applause
He wants nothing more than freedom.

Look at me,
Look at my smile that dances in the natural light.