Dance on glass

A child with too much to say and too little of an audience.
I find the lack of audience to be comforting in a sense, yet something inside me is enraged at the fact no one is here to watch. I am a dancer on the stage of the pieces of those who I have killed in order of your validation.
Watch me dance for you. Watch me. Praise me. I dance with glass shards in my feet, the more I dance the deeper they go, will they ever come out?
Quiet. They can see your fear. Hey you,
How did you like the performance?
Treachery.I stare into your appalling imitation of concern.
My feet move as if on their own,
I'm tired but I don't think they know that.
When does this performance end again? Oh darling,
It doesn't end. You see you began this performance in order to impress, but you have not. Those gazez are embedded into your soul as you twirl like a falling leaf with nothing carrying your lifeless self but the wind.
Pity, to dance so hard only to never walk again.