Showtime

Lights: dimmed

Curtains: raised

Breathe: deep

One.

Two.

Three times.

Begin.

Wires on my wrists, elbows, knees, feet; move my appendages in graceful discordance.

Painted smile, eyes don’t blink; perfect tempered happiness.

Hands too high, jerking, empty motions-(don’t worry they won’t notice)

Scream. Plead. But instead only the right words come out.

I know the script. I wrote it.

And it never varies.

Not even when I want it to.

Acts I, II, III; a day perfectly executed.

Applause: polite and careful.

Bow: low

One.

Two.

Three times.

And scene.

Curtains: closed

Lights: bright

But don’t forget to breathe.

Rest in static darkness, until it’s time for the matinee.

Then do it all again.

And again.

And again.

But don’t you dare resent;

Who else is there to hate when you’re the one pulling your own strings?