My soul feels like the hollow auditorium of my favorite theater show
The room empty aside from me and my aching soul
I look out into the audience
There is no full house
Seats are devoid of bodies
Just me, my soul, and the lights that are dead set on blinding me
Follow-spots chase me until I am too broken to run
I fall center stage
"Finale!" my soul screams.
"What do you want from me?" I scream back, questioning this demanding soul that wishes to be anything
Anything, but a hollow auditorium.
"I've done Act 1! I've done Act 2! You didn't even give me my intermission!" I sob.
I feel it's eyes soften.
"I wanted to give you an intermission...believe me. Please. But he wouldn't let me." My soul weeps into my shoulder, having ripped itself from my chest cavity.
"H-he?" My voice breaks, cracking on a pronoun so simple, I wince at the sound.
Yet, I know who my soul speaks of.
I know who my soul cries for.
There's a deafening applause from the audience.
I look out into the house, the lights come up, the follow-spot moves to catch the being that was once hidden by the dark.
It's him.
He smiles that smile. It seems so innocent, but his eyes are sinister—calculated.
"Finale," he says. Did I say this was my favorite theater show?
It's not—it's his.
"And then I want an encore."
YOU ARE READING
Society's Variety of Poetry
PoetryPoetry and other assortments: Actually, I'm a big crybaby who gets hurt by anything and everything and am not really sure anything I write is ever that deep. :)
