II

Pigment pale and figure frail
I feel your hands tremble in mine
As you rest your head on the motel bed
Asking what's left behind
When you take a bow
And the curtains close
They will applaud you for playing the role
Of a wretched child
With a bleeding nose
An empty stomach and beautiful clothes
Who's to tell of the quiet hell
Cast in your soul
Burning you down
A patient too sick to wait
You sought to medicate
You meant to feel better
But all you feel is nothing now