Vous lisez
The monologue of my soul is recited in a empty theatre
Vacant seats promising place for my heart to heal.
In this play, the sole performer wrote his own lines,
He directs his every moves as if he had lived it.
I am he, Leaving no doubt to my sincerity.
He plays all the emotions, Leading me
To my dark sentiments. He acts on them, carelessly
While I looked on tentatively.
When the curtains falls, all there's left is the memories.
A heart has been pourred out , publicly,
But Without a subjective audience there's no compassion
In the words of the critics.
While the lights are turned down, the actor
Gets out of character, providing me with enough ink
To spilled my guts on the next drama I'll imagine for him.
Friends, made of flesh & bones will be the muses who fill my heart
With enough pity & terror to soothed the voice of the critics.