Her lines once flowed so smoothly,
A host of characters at her finger tips,
Her costumes and make up all crafted to perfection.
Her timing and execution were flawless.
A perfect performance.
If you stopped to look a little closer,
You would spy a different kind of performance.
You would see her lines getting caught in her throat when uttered.
Her characters creaking in their movements.
Her costumes leaving a trail moth balls in their wake,
Her make up cracked and dried up.
The timing autonomous and executed with a lifeless gait.
The player can no longer play this role,
It is old and done
The role has lost its shine
The lines hold no meaning anymore and are empty and shallow.
Dust settles on the props,
The tape that holds them together frayed and losing its grip.
This play is done
It’s time to remove the mask
It’s time to bring down the curtain.