“All the world’s a stage”

He strutted across the platform, head held high, 

speaking his piece, working the stage, performing  

his magic. Transforming the stage into his world,  

the one only he will ever see – too late for him to capture  

it on paper– the world inside his head vomiting fourth, bringing 

his emotion with it. They cried when he cried, they laughed  

when he laughed, they were held by his presence and  

once he was done, the world was silent, awed by the  

person in front of them, who had just tore his heart in half,  

not to be put back together. Never, not even once more, 

would he be able to do that again, for this was good-bye.  

He performed his part in the world, and now it would 

be over. White filled his vision as the cloth was pulled 

over his head. And with one simple push, he would be dead,   

the crowd would cheer once again, morbid as they are.