A Stage

All of life
Dipped in black velvet
Hanging in an auditorium.

The back curtain draped, and
Poorly sewn together
Hiding behind it
A certain darkness.

The stage itself
Filled with actors
And actresses
Playing their parts
Perfectly.

As they see it,
No one deigns
To disagree in the least.
It would be heresy.

Each actor lives
Off the audience and is
Filled with life from the cheers
To look out at the audience, one
Would see a glimmer of light.

Reflections of a half starved
Thespian dangling by her own
Strings being pulled by unknown
Deities are honored and loved.
But they are secretly forgotten.

The curtain behind
Moves without wind,
A stench across the stage,
The audience doesn’t notice,
The actors try to ignore.

Behind the curtain, poorly sewn,
Decrepit rotting flesh and
Oozing lifelessness linger
Reaching to the curtain to keep it
Closed so that no one knows

The glimmer reflects
A darkness briefly shown.
The stage is lost to itself,
The actors refuse to look
Either at the curtain behind,
Or the audience in front.

They know, but refuse to admit,
The curtain and the audience,
A pit and a mirror.
There is no audience, only
The actors themselves,
The actresses beaming for themselves,
No one else exists.

If the mirror breaks,
But it groans and scares them,
Or the curtain opens,
The stench is too much alone,
They would cease to be.

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