The world’s a stage, and we but actors on it.

They glued me into time, they dressed me up
They made me act a part, life’s jailhouse keepers.
Wrote a script, translated it into three languages
Sent me to two different continents to play the role
Three different countries saw me walk the planks,
And dazzle crowds with lies.
I did it once in costume, once in drag
And once with a gun to my head.

The glue begins to dissolve (I can feel it give a little)
They did not mean for it to hold a human
(Heartmindsoulandmyriadotherbits)
To existence, let alone this human
Or to keep a person, this person, i.e. me,
Prisoner to existence, tied to time’s ticking metronome
Each day I feel it sag a little, bend a little, stretch some more
Like tar on a hot day.

But what happens when the glue, the stage makeup,
The part become unstuck?
What happens when the mirror of reality turns upon itself?
Will all the shattered shards of me
Splinter, splay, fray and fling themselves
(Spring loaded by long repression)
To the very ends of being and
Lodge them selves in, what, the stars?
Or will I fade like the body from the cross,
Fall slow-motion and folding to the floor
To be done with all of it,
Evermore?