The Last Act

Mommy & Daddy's
little girl,
turned
into
Pinocchio.

Lies
fueled by
hot tears,
cold tile,
and
protective instinct.

Relationships
held up
by
puppet-strings.

But what happens
when a liar's nose
becomes
as long as
a tree limb—

or when it begins
to die
from root
to
tip?

What happens
when all those tears,
warp
a whole,
wooden
face?

What happens
when every
marionette's
string
breaks?

Please,

please—

do not
tell me,
'the show
must go on.'

I am so
exhausted
by this life
of 'dress-up,'
and 'pretend.'

I am
begging—

through a mouth
filled
with mold,
and
rot—

for a
curtain call,

on a stage,
I know
has no
curtains.

My answer
is

s
      i
l
     e
n
      c
e
\
/
\
/
\
/
|
Then,
finally,
once the
•void•
is
pregnant
with
/my
pain/
։
։
the
audience
«ERUPTS»
with
-applause.-