passionless

i used to relish the theatre,
to tie my mask with golden ribbon
and inhabit my second skin.
to take the stage with such enthusiasm
bite into a crimson apple, dripping
the passion that infused me
the feelings that destroyed me.
with building vengeance i held aloft
her severed head - i triumphed again.
but ribbons became fetters
and my face showing more
than my sixteen years.
behind the wings, we returned
to who we were meant to be.

imagine my confusion
this sedate stranger, who at worst--
the unrehearsed, the merely bitter
comment here and there.
no glorious victories, only vague pixels
whose meaning no one need decipher.
no full orchestra to serenade
the climax.

i expect any day to wake at dawn,
slowly stretch, and rise
leaving my body behind.

Reviews

[The Reticent Receptioni..]

striking imagery; i love how the poem itself passionless -- pain and regret without passion.

[Spilled Her Guts in Cur..]

Fantatic write. Dramatic and well writen.

[deactivated account. pl..]

the imagery in this is breathtaking.
very well expressed.
I loved "behind the wings, we returned
to who we were meant to be."