Casting:
Quiet, shy, reserved;
Alone and apart
I wait.
Mom comes home,
And I make her laugh.
She sees the spark
Buried in my shell.
I watch Jonathan Winters,
Learning this craft,
This art,
And I wait.
Rehearsal:
High school drama,
Not the kind with friends and arguments.
I found theatre, my home, my future.
They said I was funny and I was voted
Most Likely Not to Succeed.
I’ll show them yet.
A full ride to Juilliard-
The Advanced Program-
One of only two.
I don’t just act,
I become
Every foreign accent
Every diverse character
Every part I am given to play.
Now I’m done,
On to the next scene.
Junior year,
Leaving school,
Moving on to the real world,
Ensured my success.
Stage:
Faces whirling
Past my magic carpet
Can’t focus on one
Movies and standup and TV
Light in my eyes
Can’t see through
Cameras everywhere
On set and off
Can’t catch a break
Fake a joke
Crack a smile
Can’t make a mistake
The spell will break
The talent will die
Their infatuation
Like the mayflies
Gone in the flash of a shutter
Behind the Scenes:
If only someone could see them,
The flaws running rampant inside;
Children and adults both adore him
Because they can’t see what he hides.
Affairs are just part of this broken down soul.
The drugs he consumes dull the rest.
He doubts in his mind that he’ll ever grow old;
His humor just hides he’s depressed.
Three wives, three children, close friends, tons of wealth;
Nothing put brakes on this runaway train.
The disease has nothing if it does not have stealth.
Having everything really can’t dull the pain.
Stand up, comedian. Make it a joke if you need.
The Robin Williams Show’s “cheaper than therapy.”
The End:
In the bathroom mirror I see him
(who is that?)
Pressing a pocket knife to his wrist
(is he crazy?)
The cuts don’t look that deep
(it must really hurt)
But now he’s stopped and walked away
(he didn’t finish up yet)
The closet door is hanging ajar
(maybe he’s changing his clothes)
He’s tightening—no, loosening—his belt
(I really don’t want to see him nude)
But it doesn’t look like he’s changing his pants
(then why does he need a belt?)
He wraps it around his neck
(it looks like a leash)
Like maybe his body needs help staying attached
(or maybe his head is the one?)
He’s attached the belt to the door somehow
(now it REALLY looks like a leash)
And he’s sitting down in a chair
(like a good—wait, a chair in the closet?)
He isn’t moving. His face is blue.
(oh God. I have to stop him.)
Eyes bulge in his skull behind their curtains
(what the fuck? Why can’t I run to him?)
Suddenly he slumps—
(who turned out the lights?)
I get it now
(he is me)
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