the show must go on

There's a whole life I watch myself live in front of my eyes. 

Will I ever get to live it? 

Alas, we’ll never know, for I can never escape the blinds.

I stand backstage, with makeup caked on scars and costumes tied over imperfections.

But the stage feels like a terror, and the dialogues begin to fade from memory.

And I find myself questioning if the audience really wants to see the play.

The supporting characters smile from the sidelines.

I must brave the lights, the crowd for them.

But is their love enough to shield me from the shame?

I keep looking around for excuses to feel this way.

Excuses for why the play is so demanding, why the lights are too bright, the sounds too loud.

Excuses for why the curtain is so heavy and tempting to let go of.

As I step onto the stage, like many times before, I play my character.

And I play the role of a person capable of playing that character.

Hoping that nobody will notice when the mask slips.

My hands itch to drop the curtains.

Phantom words ring in my ears, phantom pains wreck my body.

And I wish to the heavens that I could get off the platform.

But don’t worry, the show will go on. 

Because what if the curtains fall, and nobody notices at all?

Or worse, what if they rejoice that it’s over, and only then applaud?