On Stage
Method
client
"I write so deviant that my heart dwells in its roots"
-Carrie Hoovard
Made movies, played roles, light camera to action.
Placed in manifested casings the mirrored walls showed no passion.
Reflection of you... Such a lost meanings in act
switched to full grunted to show how the meaningless fall back.
Shackled to the ground, plastered with drama
"its bad luck to make a foolish wish" is what i was told of karma
picket trails along picket cells derail in a single pale
cradled into a single shell and always forever hidden; creped looking pail.
so the veins of memoirs flood through a dime mirror
that shatters into its past to bring a present into the future of color
black and white paintings fall to the ground; sound break
SHH!.....
So you must hush for a moment as happiness always arrives late.
That once perfect storyline is missing its fucking spine
Because the light that once was lime is now black and will not shine
Now he can’t perform in the clutch because he lost that vital touch
But it’s not bad luck; he’s just not getting enough adrenaline rush
And he’s going insane stuck behind the camera, not in the script
While the actors reel in the fame and become rich off his pencil tip
He wants to call it quits but is addicted to the reviews of critics
Until one day he portrays and image that’s so vivid he really lives it
Unable to hold in his feelings his depression leaves him possessed
To the point where there’s only one thing that will relieve his stress
So to make his message clear he waited for the play to premier
Lights, camera, action and his eraser makes em’ all disappear
"My life was enrooted into such a play that once it died i died with it"
-Tony Montello
So play on mister as I play the role of a dead
Laying in a row of thoughts as blood leaks onto my bed
Dead across the surface, purchased a second ticket
To the next showing of massacre entitled “as I slit my wrist”
Suburban o this ordinance as I hide behind this closed door
Picket fences built in a self conscious defense; I lay on the floor
Bashed under this nightmare; seeped no one cares
I let one thought escape; the building collapses to this bloody affair
My pen scribbles the next lines; paper crumpled and thrown
My soul travels as its mate; plagued gestures plastered, my heart is prone.
Climatic emphasis created with a personal emotion
They say let the heart flow; I let it go as it flow with the bloody ocean
Behind this door is my little secret chamber of thoughts
I stay shackled and hidden for my ideas will forever be lost
So riddle me this and yet so riddle me that
That one writer of a play you loved will never in life be back.