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
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.