In the gilded cage of fame, I hide,
A mask of perfection, worn with pride.
But the weight of applause feels hollow and dry,
Each cheer a reminder of the self I deny.
Artist when put in spotlight burn and die,
Very few can handle the fire of the people's eye.

The mirror reflects a face not my own,
A stranger sculpted from praises once thrown.
I smile on command, though inside I scream,
Drowning in visions of someone else's dream.
Pretending I'm flawless as my soul's left to lie,
Losing myself in the fire of the people's eye.

Critics carve away the parts I hold dear,
Their words like knives, feeding my fear.
Each stroke of my brush now feels so unsure,
The art, once my anchor, now feels impure.
The artist in me fades, with every false smile,
Consumed by the flames of the people's eye