Curtain Call Poem by Benjamin Feliciano

No words to portray the absence of an audible audience of condemnation,
The theater is silent.
No stones are cast today, they have become indifferent.
They have seen me preform before, this is nothing new.
'What? ' I gasp, 'where have my fans gone?
This was once the highlight of the night,
When I collapse to confession, belaboring myself in contrition and seeking recompense for my abundance of stigmatic short-comings.'
My chant echoes again and again, reverberating off their silent mouths and empty eyes.
'Cheer for me! I've taken my bow, (to my knees of course) the show is complete! '
Breathless from the act, I look up, expecting applause.
There came no reply.
'I demand that I be heard! '
My exaction garnered only silence.
'Will no one revere me? '
Hush.
'Damn you! Damn you to hell! '
Stillness.
I weep.
'I need this, I need you! Need me! Need me! Need me!
Quiet, oh the aching quiet.
'Please? Please need me, want me, love me.'
Naught but ringing.
A return to my knees.
'Please...? '
A weak mumble is all that escapes.
I attempt to recover.
'Dance! That is what you want no? I will dance, I will dance again! Come, see me dance! '
The crowd is as unmoving as stone, giving me no quarter.
'I will dance, you will see, you will love me again.'
'Here here, what now? A rabbit from my hat? Madness you say? Impossible? Not for me! Impressive no? '
The desperation is evidence that I have become no more than a shell.
Begging.
Groveling.
Pleading.
Dying.
Withering without approval like a zinnia without sun.
I.
Have finally.
Gone mad.
The curtain closes as I prepare to dive from from a chair, restrained by a rope.
The scene has ended, and all that is heard is the sound of twine growing taught.