It’s Not Just A Play
The music plays.

She is born and she is living.
Witnesses before her eyes angst, misunderstanding, depression

Confusion.
she doesn’t know

but it hurts
like disenegrating paper on fire ashing itself while the flames travel slowly
and she knows the rules

don’t tell anything


or else?


A stinging red handprint that lasts for hours



And a burdened heart forever
Its time for her close up
She has learned from the best

And she knows the rules
She is the star of the show
Playing the part of the perfect daughter
Because a tear is wasteful and progresses into nothing
Guilt is his plessure

Because he can’t read the future.
His path will reach a river

But he can’t swim
He chuckles at the stupidity of her

As if she were


Handicap.
Her mouth sewn shut

She bows her head


Sarcastic smile
Late, she excuses her self to her bedroom
Looks at her surroundings and

Plunges onto her bed.
He doesn’t know
The faucet is turned on

Smearing her stage makeup
Every pore seems to overflow

Overflow with hate.




Dread.





Death.






Fear.
He doesn’t know
Her face pressed into her pillow

Hard
Vocal chords paralyzed

But still adiment on muffling her cries


Reaching suffication
Not a breath can wisp into her lungs through the thick filled pillow.

She takes a bow.

Her story ended.