A mouth stands agape
while hands grip the perceived porcelain sanctuary.
Eyes stream tears
and salt etches regret upon pale cheeks.
A bowed head raises and
on shaky feet starts forward once more.
The thespian unlocks the door,
a smile pressed forcefully to parched lips.
All the world’s a stage,
and her a player,
leaving peers perplexed and unsuspecting.
***thinking of a suitable title and finding it unsuitable…
[Revisions need to take place in writing and in parallel, life. Grammar has bested me; no longer a friend. Apologies.]