The show is over
curtains close

once upon
is over

for those

to go about their darkened streets
tiptoeing
forgetting

the lonely rose

upon the woodened stage
a silence
of crickets echoed

an actor to whom many
secretly loathed

I sat within this smell
of old aged floors

alone happy

he'd gone

wrapped within a cause

like the phantom
he strung his love

covered gracefully
always
crouched from up above

I could not leave
I wanted more

yet took my crumpled letters
stole towards the door

a fleeting glance behind me

a mere shadow
silhouetted with rain

I screamed so hollow
tripping then fell

knowing our story


Yet

who could tell