“Actor, Dancer”

The light hailing
down to centre stage

prickles and itches
every part it can touch.

Skin, stings.
Eyes, blind.
Memory, fades.

The fuel in me that used to be electrifying
is now paralyzing,
lingering its
way into a heart attack.

Now You’re the missing electric boots and a mohair suit,
the ones we read in some magazine, now old and tattered up forgotten.

No,
it doesn’t feel weird anymore
because overdoses of narcissism

can be susceptible to phobias
of ever believing in Yourself.

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