Apologies For Dying Young

My apologies to the audience (In regards to the
death of my sadness). Oh, how many of you turned
against me since the year of last, castrating my
fruited labor ever so fast. Funny, I thought you were
all my forever fans. How hilarious, I thought you
wanted me to venture on and further my plans. But no,
you wanted me here to shatter my soul, shake your
world, make you feel better about going home to
something warm. Oh, yes, this is all amusing to me.
I'm no longer that fragile girl I use to be. I'm washed
out, no more words to spew at the many few who
love to watch the suffering. I wonder, did you pity
me in my performance? Did you feel my pain, thinking,
“Oh, she will never know happiness or enjoyment.”
The damaged must “always” be alone. She knows  
nothing of a “happy” home. Where were you? You
encouraged the earth shattering pieces, convincing
me, that was all I had. You wanted me to emit the
poetry of the sad. The demons had their claws in me!
Penetrating any soul feeling you wanted to see!
Oh so you want me to move you to cry?
Feel the pain I had inside? Well, sorry, it's gone.
The dark suicide poetry is no longer my love song.
I suppose our conception of true successful poets
was the wrong one. I believe in God, don't know if any
of you ever wondered, or even conceived of the image
of my pale face thinking there was one. You, the audience,
have more power over what is our love song.
When I take my bow tonight, no one applaud me for
what I have done. For the art of this poem was not meant
to shatter the many but inspire the few. Inspiration the few
 need in order to accomplish what the many could not do.

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