The stage hated her with a passion that
seared red-hot against her soles.
It sank its scorching flames into her feet,
peeling back layers of skin with a
gripping force that made her bleed,
melting flesh until soon,
there would be nothing left of her.
The stage was stealing her soles.
With each step that she took,
they were bleeding wet and red
across the burning stage,
creating a trail of bloody footprints
that never seemed fade.
She was dying now,
and nobody was realizing it.
not the musicians
who were yawning as they
idly tapped their fingers to the drums,
not the audience members,
who were shifting in their seats
and rubbing their eyes.
She could take it if she tried,
but her passion was not strong enough
to own the stage.
Her limbs were disintegrating,
her body being torn apart.
She was dancing on the sun now.
The stage was killing her now.
She was burning to death.