My Stage

As the light begins to fade,
As the curtains start to close,
The audience claps for me
My act perfectly performed, whatever I do goes...
I bow and turn my back on it all
The lies, the act, the mask,
The truth buried deep within the scripted lines
They gave me to say, not one ounce of fact
Purely for their enjoyment...
Diminishing my soul.
I run from the sounds of their amusement
I refuse to play this role.
My stage, one covered with fantasy,
Merely a floor on which I lie
My heart out to please
And provide the cruelty on which they feed.
My tears run freely but undetected
As they clap and throw roses
An excellent show once again upon which I reflect
While I dance with the very horror
I try to escape from...
As always I run into the cage
They sculpted from my blood
Held together by my undying rage.
I decide on one last outstanding act
I walk upon my stage with knife in hand
They look dumbfounded and clap
I hold its gleaming body to my throat, my awful fans...
And slice my neck... My stage no longer alive
But rather one of the many insane capabilities
Of my tortured mind
What am I now?
Am I me
Or am I still what they want me to be?