It is spent, it went away with the downtime, the silence, the space.
Being
an entertainer and a lighter for fear of losing the job ends you up
fired if you come everyday home with your hands empty, always hungry,
always thinking of the cake somebody else is having, ends up driving you the kind of madness that comes from just getting exhausted crumbles and
good will, air and charades, ruses, tricks and pure refined nothing. The kind of madness that comes from tasting the smallest amount of the sweetest thing you ever tasted that's
supposed to last you for who knows how long, surviving on that memory on a dark dungeon
where otherwise you are being thrown the left overs from an old dinner you so
vividly remember, you so strongly long for but you don't know when it
will come again, never being an option. Being forever left out of the party, trapped with your thoughts of it, so far away so removed from it that you start imagining it all with your eyes open while gazing at the very real loneliness around you.
