100 Notes I'm Afraid To Write.

21. The Magician

The Magician

In the dim-lit room, where shadows entwine,
Stands a figure of whispers, a magician of time.
With a flick of his wrist, he conjures a smile,
Yet behind every gesture, lies a heart worn and frail.

His hat, a deep cavern where secrets reside,
Pulls forth from the darkness the things that we hide.
A rabbit of hope, from a world turned to grey,
Yet it vanishes swiftly, like dreams swept away.

In the audience’s laughter, I sit at the edge,
An illusion of joy, but I’m hanging by threads.
For the tricks that he plays, with his sleight of hand,
Are mere distractions, a mask for the damned.

“Watch closely,” he beckons, “as I make shadows dance,
With each snap of my fingers, I’ll offer you a chance.”
But the deeper I gaze, the more I can see,
The magic is fleeting, and it’s drowning me.

He waves a dark wand, and the smoke starts to curl,
A tempest of longing, a void in the swirl.
And I, a mere spectator, caught in the haze,
Yearn for his touch to unravel my days.

“Disappearing act,” I whisper in despair,
“Take me with you, into the thin air.
Let me slip from this fabric, this prison of pain,
To a realm where the shadows don’t linger or feign.”

For the world spins in circles, a relentless charade,
And I’m tired of watching the light slowly fade.
Each laugh a reminder of joy I can’t grasp,
Each smile a reflection of dreams that won’t last.

“Make me a memory, a thought in the breeze,
Where the weight of existence is lifted with ease.”
I reach for the magician, my heart in my hands,
Hoping he’ll grant me the solace I demand.

With each flourish and twist, he weaves tales of the lost,
Of those who’ve succumbed to the weight of their cost.
And I see in his eyes a flicker of truth,
A mirror reflecting the agony of youth.

For the magic he wields is both cruel and divine,
A paradox wrapped in the fabric of time.
He offers illusions, a glimpse of escape,
Yet beneath all the glamor lies an unyielding fate.

“Let the curtains fall, let the show come to close,
For the pain that I carry is all that I know.
In the silence between breaths, I long to be free,
To vanish like whispers, to cease being me.”

Yet as the last act nears, and the audience sighs,
I realize the magician is masked by his lies.
For even the greatest can’t conjure the sun,
And in this dark theater, I’m the only one.

The magic of living, though tangled and torn,
Holds beauty in shadows, in hearts that are worn.
But in my heart's echo, a silence remains,
A longing for solace, a chorus of pain.

So I’ll rise from my seat, leave the stage of despair,
For the magician’s allure is a trap in the air.
Yet as I step forward, the world fades away,
The curtain is drawn, and I long for the day.

In the end, I discover the magic is frail,
The threads of my hope unravel and pale.
And in the dim glow, I embrace the abyss,
The final act whispers, “You’ll be missed.”

With the last breath I take, I relinquish the fight,
For in darkness, there’s peace that swallows the light.
And the magician, still smiling, bows low to the ground,
As I vanish in silence, without making a sound.