This stage used to be her playground,
when the crowds would come in droves.
Her name always top of the bill,
dressed to the nines
in fine flowing Victorian clothes.
She always stole the show.
This stage under the spotlight,
she would wow and delight,
night after night,
The stage used to be her playground,
but to get there
she spent so much time
laying down,
so much time
giving favour to repugnant suits,
who thought she was their slave,
to do as they wished.
"Never speak of this with your lips.
Never speak or we will make
you wish you were down in the pits."
They would hiss, in serpentine call.
She never wanted any of this,
just to be adored is all,
to perform to an audience,
to feel the applause
ripple through her bones,
her skin, to feel the joy
of the people as she would sing.
This stage used to be her playground,
where sounds would reverberate around.
The voices booming,
the songs longingly soothing,
but there was always malice looming.
and one eve it did come.
In this theatre stage show city,
where things seem
so bright and pretty,
but in the darkness
the slime sticks
and the air is gritty.
She turned down the wrong man,
and down a trapdoor,
into the darkness
under the stage
her blood did run.
Now she watches from the shadows.
You will see her if you look closely,
Her face haggard and broken down
Her Victorian gown
outdated and torn.
Translucent she floats through.
Once more teary eyes glance at the stage
Her yells, her rage
still echoes in the darkness
as she tries to tell
the young girls to flee,
Scaring them to make them leave.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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