As the house lights dim, the audience take their seats
to view my swan song performance on this stage;
my performance, a final exit, showing no defeat
while my mask of bravado hides my pain and rage.

You sit front row center, watching in awe,
while I recite my final soliloquy of the night;
you realize what you hear is not what you saw,
but a new revelation to what I feel inside.

My props - a broken heart with a lost soul -
are held in my quivering hands for you to see,
that you have left me here on this stage alone,
while the audience sits laughing, mocking me.

Onto the stage, you throw a dagger, with which to pierce my heart,
and I pick it up slowly, and raise it for you to see;
while my shame is too great, I cannot play the part
of the courtroom jester, for which you've been viewing me.

When the act ends, I exit stage left
and the audience sits clapping to see more,
but with my heart in a sling and my soul bereft,
I won't take this stage for an encore.