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"My pain, my pride. These scars are mine."~ Otep Shamaya
The Final Act
What I don't say
Would shock you to the core.
Because it would paralyze all of you every day.
What I don't say, what I hide, it's what I'll spend my life learning to ignore.

When I say I'm fine,
I'm hanging off the edge, desperately trying not to fall out of line.
When I say it's okay,
I really mean I'm going home to cry for the rest of the day.
If I say I'll be alright,
Then you should probably call later that night.

When I explain,
People always find a way to complain.
But the understanding I cease to obtain
Is how they can know MY feelings so well to feel such strain.
Or could it be that my existence is the object of regret left to remain?

It's when no one's there at night.
After we turn off the light.
It's the questions that we try so hard to hide from sight.
It's the thoughts of what hasn't been that one day just might.

Drowning in a mentally emotional well-
Is like dying of 3rd degree burns in Hell.
Addicted to electricity-
Like men are slaves to women and whiskey.

Try to look around the corner,
Try to make it around the bend-
But everywhere I turn I feel more like a foreigner,
Than just another friend.

Where do I go from here?
Why do you all expect me to survive?
I already slashed my flesh, next time shall I sear?
Can't you see I run this circus to remind myself that I'm alive?!

I wear the Jester's clothes,
And I brandish the Fool's Crown.
I listen to anyone's woes,
And somehow manage not to cry or frown.

Just once, can I say what I mean?
Because I always mean what I think I say,
Is my side so invisible it still remains to be seen?
I'd like to know if you could walk one of my miles once a year for a day.

Would you still be able to censor your emotional conducters?
Could you really condition yourselves?
Can you really be your own instructors?
Well, you're lucky because for people like me- we're sent to the shelves.

I am going to explain
Within the only frame
I even dare dane
To ever trust enough to maintain.

I know what I like, and I know what I want.
But what I like is no longer what I want.
What I need has never been what I want, until now.
What I want was always what I liked, but even that must take its bow.
What I like was never what I need,
So I must find a way to right the lot of every last wrongful deed.

Here is a story,
Told far too much in a world of the First.
A timeless tragedy, and somewhat gorey-
One of a child, girl, adolescent, and woman who craved everything with a rapacious thirst.

How could she see the true essence of the picture,
Even with her face pressed against the stained glass?
So as she aged she tried every ritual, spell, potion, concoction, and mixture.
And yet somehow, even as she fell, she was always caught by an infatuated mass.

How could you expect a person given everything to want nothing?
The truth is, you cannot.
The only thing that can make it stop isn't just someONE, but someTHING.
This something isn't just an idea, but a thought.

The thought is a state of mind.
A condition of the entire bubble of each mass of existence.
It's one thing everyone searches for, but few ever find.
Simply put:
Eternal inner peace and contentment.

So here is where we make our stage,
And over there is where we lay our scene.
Is the actress dark enough, does she possess enough loathsome rage?
Nature is already cruel, so why are we so mean?
A theater within the Theater of the Absurd.
A prison within a guilded cage,
Perhaps one like it you may have heard-
But I assure you sir, this satirically tragic gem is a rare bird.

Alucarda Incarnate
Community Member
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