I, In the Third Person

I feel the sweat of a race not run and hold the clench of a stomach churned, as I crumble and fall, using artifice to fool this world of my consummate ease This daily pulse has blood flow restricted, like the sparrow evading the falcons dance. And I, in the third person try so hard to solicit speech from this frozen mouth My time has come to stand upon this stage and fill the pledge to tickets bought. And to earn my daily crust, whilst hoping the ink of fear does not write upon my face And by the end of day to feel like an egg dashed against a wall, breaking into a thousand ruined nerves, killing all the life within this rain - soaked hesitant voice To begin this all again tomorrow. This troubled journey of wornboards and featureless landscapes trapped by a scream hidden in fog