Type cast

The audience stares complacent through the board creaks and dimming lighting, the same script runs again without permission through his ever widening veins, this mask never showing the cracks so longed for, the time wasted now strangles his delivery. And they’ve come to expect this norm, this show now their property, it’s their given right to Repudiate progression, and those achievements mapped from the beginning now lie torn and crumpled; lost scattered ashes. To remain proud in this shell his only hope, and to keep the yells of desperation trapped in the same lines; incognizant to future offers. Jonathan Butcher