After I get off this stage if you are heading out the door and catch me in the lobby of that theater with my head down in my hands as if I never spent a moment trying to get to know things like the back of them

Tell me my performance was great that it was stunning spectacle or if it wasn't that’s okay too no need to lie to someone who already lies to himself

Although please do me the privilege of spinning it into a story  of how I tried to be great but came up short

The undeniable truth is that failure is proof of effort conducted so speak that proof into me cause most days I try to prove it in solitude

Most days I stare at the blank canvas that is me too depressed to hold up an artist’s brush and stand too close to reflections of myself fogging up that mirror to prove to my body I am still alive

I used to want to kill myself now I'm just trying my best to best myself

It has occurred however that maybe I don't exist as I craft this prose maybe I really did kill myself as I wanted and now I'm just in limbo writing my regrets out and when I performed I was looking out to the audience their cold stares it was like they saw right through me

Wait perhaps they quite literally saw right through me nothing figurative about the matter

The pen is greater than sword and so I have wielded it the dictionary my forge i wished to be deadly but am I simply dead