All is quiet, when the lights begin to dim

and the audience settles down

as their curiosity consumes them

The actors spread across the stage,

weaving their mangled, complex web

Their sorrowful stories start to unfold,

stories of the many tears they shed

These tales will tell of souls, more empty than shells

that scream,

like the ring emanating from a bell

And, as demented as it is,

they've given up their will to live

They bear scars and tears

They're left lifeless and scared

And still, we sit, and intently stare

We can't find the kindness to genuinely care

We're all inhaling, waiting for what will happen next

but then we exhale, we're displeased

because the performers have forgotten the rest

For the ones on stage, it's not just an act

It's what they face everyday

while they try their best not to crack.

It's more than just a fairytale

that you can fly away from,

then open up some other time

when another day's end has come.

Their skin is splintering

And one day it'll shed

Then we'll all be able to see

whats behind the curtain, sewn with red.

Maybe then the spectators will take back

all the cruel words they said.