This Business

Into my costume once more.
Strapped up in glaring sequins from head
To toe. They can paint you any
Colour of the rainbow;
Only to hide the black you
Feel inside.

To know everything you see
In the dressing room
Mirror is fictional.
Then begin the balancing act
And the spotlight is on you.
Your interrogation starts.

Walk the runway like a plank
To the sea of monsters with their cameras
Flashing like the thunder
In a purple sky.

Sure that any single photograph
Could be the bullet that shoots you
Dead.

The panic takes hold of me.
Suffering altitude sickness from the heels.
I flee the stage.
Mascara running.
Lipstick smeared across my face.
Bolt through the emergency doors
And hide with the rats by
The rubbish bins.

Oh what it is to be perfect.