Blinding lights, deafening music. On this stage of fragile sticks
And all of you ahead.
And then here I am.
Your eyes pursue my every move.
Your ears soak in my every note.
Your heart beats with my groove.
Sigh. Look at all of you. Just another face in the crowd, so wretched you don’t even recognize yourself. Someone taught you to be my devoted fan, and now, you can’t even place a finger on the possibility of something else existing.
All I wanted, when I was young, was to leave an impact on your lives – make a difference.
And now, you shout my name, whereas I don’t even know yours.
You see my face in abstract things, clouds, coffee and even with your eyes closed, while I can’t even identify yours.
You dream of me all the time,
And I dream of new ways to hypnotize your soul, to con you, to make you fall in love with me, even though I can hardly love myself. I make sure that you look into the mirror, hoping you looked just like me, although I can barely look into one without cringing in pain. The pain that is ingrained in my conscience – which has gone astray, but is not dead.
I make sure that you want to name your unborn child after me.
Albeit I hate the word they call me by, I hate how it is in possession of me, and how it’s more dominant than me. A name, which just makes sure that you are blinded by my light.
Whilst I’m blinded by my ideas of myself, my aura of plastic- and its short life.
I want you to crave me. Like a fix. A group of eyes so blind and ears so deaf, that just cannot get enough of me. That makes you love me even though you try not to. It makes you sing my songs till your last breath.
I want to haunt your mind. So that you do not sleep. Just like me. My conscience has been sleeping for me all this time.
On stage, I am devine– unachievable, indisputable.
But I run away from the mirror, trying to lose myself. I hunt for the answers, the truth, which has been long buried six feet under. On stage, it is all about me– all that’s existent and all that is alive.
But when I am all alone, I don’t know who I am. I’m confused between reality and hallucinations. I am as self-doubting, as insane as you – perhaps even more. Actually, definitely more.
And I as take stage one last time,
I want to ask.
Do you want to hear me out one last time?
Will you yell my name and mask the music in your screams?
Won’t you give me that last chance to finally be me?
What is the matter?
Did you see through my disguise?
Did you read between my lines?
Did you grasp the deceit in my voice?
I guess the curtain has never really fallen until it falls one last time.
I should have known better, when I was just like you.
I was immature, but sensible; ordinary, but genuine; defenseless, but alive inside.
I guess it’s too late now.
The curtains fall, lights out.
The final show is over, I take a bow.
And remember to throw your roses with their thorns this time.