The Final Curtain

by Elena Ransley
(UK)

I sent an invite just to you

for the performance, my début.

So as the curtain starts to rise

raise your hands up for my demise.


You're the filth lurking backstage,

the reason behind my rage,

my hidden depths of despair,

the lonely call in my prayer.


With each breath it deepens;

my heart spurning to a purest black

like a dirty whore that depends on smack.

The heaviest of burdens .


I know my death is just for you.

So if you wish to sit front row

you can be sure to feel no woe,

the tie is cut we are through.


My performance is just for you,

the red curtain rises just for you,

the music plays for you.

If this is the last breath that I take,

I know my death is just for you.