The Show Must Go On

The Show Must Go On



         Standing in the dark, behind the thick velvet curtain. I can hear the crowds’ subtle roar. Why must I go? A tragedy, I must perform with a plastered smile. My body limp and my head dizzy. Other’s experience such fantastic tales. Adventures beyond one’s belief. Why must I experience and reveal such bitterness? The smell is musty. I have been here twice before. I am not ready for another performance. Although, as a performer, I am forced to work with what I have. No excuses.

         Another heart ache? Another failed romance? Is there any other road to travel by, or am I doomed to this fate of such a desolate path. The setting is grim. Why must I be here? Because I must. Who else would take my spot? Every character is important, I mustn't give in. Perhaps if I perform well… That is a lie. I will always experience a brutal angst facing my existence. The world doesn’t care.

         There I go again, self loathing. Don’t I have anything better to do? Perhaps. However, this performance is not one I would choose to lose myself in. Self critical. That is what I am. I am born to perform this show, although, I do not wish to. What words are there to explain the dire situation I feel. I will not leave this performance as I once was. I am not that blessed. Why is it so inspirational to be in pain. The suffering, as if I was to look up to it. However, like any desperate man, I do.

         The lights beneath the curtain dim. The audience beings to applaud, for whatever reason. They must realize what they’ve gotten themselves into at some point. Involving oneself in another’s woe. It is not to be done! Wanting to give in and run, I quietly leave the center of the unforgiving stage and proceed to the wings. Reluctantly waiting for my cue. When the time comes, I stride on stage. I perform only what I practice. Never what I think. My makeup beings to fade under the harsh lights. The truth is revealing. Yet, my smile stays strong.

         This… This isn’t so bad. Right? If you look at it from a different light, you feel your chest snaps open. Out of it, you give experience, love, advice, and companionship. Until you are empty. Then death. Anything pertaining to the subject of death. Oh, the misery. To lose one. Forever. Never to influence again, except in the past. Such sorrow. The mourning is pathetic, for who wants to live forever? Who wants to perform forever? This performance could have a fatal end if I choose to give up. Ending it rather abruptly, painfully. It ends when it ends. Because the show must go on.