The Dramatist

Behind the mask,
tears flow down unpainted faces.
Behind the porcelain,
a darkness takes root.

The bitch, the child,
the whore, the mother.
Another role to fill,
another line to read.

Lies flow from a poisoned tongue,
laugher, hallow and breaking,
shields a dying heart.

Blood flows from invisible wounds,
and pain throbs endlessly,
in a shattered mind.

Loneliness, heartache,
terror and pain.
Worthlessness, fear,
betrayal and depression.

A painted face,
for the world to see.
A laughing smile,
a shining light.

The cracks are growing,
the tears, staining.
The blood shines in the hidden moon,
and the pain flecks on gloved hands.

Darkness, consuming,
tearing, destroying.
Aching, draining
darkness, conquering.

Guilded talent, roles perfected,
lies repeated, lines corrupted.
Tales woven into endless tapestry
hunger grows.

Fading, wasting,
twisted, deceiving.
Broken, empty,
lost, gone.

Masks are broken and
the darkness lay bare.
Memories turning at
the drops of blood on white.

Dying light and glowing embers,
cold and empty rooms of stone.
Endless tears and echoes of laughter,
Broken porcelain shattered on a stair.