Small Time Talent

The back stages of shady small time
shows are places not so strange to you,
the low light and the rafters
are a comfort like a familiar face
after a rough night spent alone
out in the wilderness.
You ask the people what they do
and they scoff and question
how you even got there.
Most were way far off
from normal to begin with.
A man chewing sharp tobacco,
you hear crunch
with every bite, flies the curtain,
and the next act is underway
in its parade of purple light
that melts to clear with no
forgiveness in its foresight.
They knew from the beginning
that the audience would hate them
and they braced for broken bottles
as well as long disgusting screams
from outer darkness.
At the end they all smelled like
someone else’s beer,
but had no fear of being hated
since the hatred was in the air
long before the curtain met the sky.
They all knew there was an applause
out there, somewhere in the world,
and they would find it if it killed them.
They would find it if they never
lived to see.

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