The Scene After the Credits
The One Still Standing After the Credits
The story lingers in the silence after the screen fades.
They forget I exist once the spotlight dies. But I linger in the static hum of unplugged amps, the ache of a half-drunk glass, the ghost-light carving shadows where the funhouse mirrors stood. I speak the dialect of empty rooms. My rhythm’s in the slow drift of smoke-machine haze, the whisper of soles on spilt sequins. You want closure? I’m the punchline nobody heard.
What I'm Into: the weight of abandoned confetti, echoes in soundproof walls, champagne stains on marble, post-credits melodies, single perfect roses forgotten on tables
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