The speaker admits that their heart holds no fairy tales. There are no stories where a hero wins and everything works out. Instead, the poem imagines something closer to a staged horror, where someone shouts into emptiness and hopes that help will come running. The word "theatric" suggests the drama is loud and performed, yet no one may be listening.
The last two lines bring it together with a small, striking image: love as "a deflated ball still bent on bouncing." A flat ball can't do what balls do, but it keeps trying. That image holds both sadness and stubbornness. The speaker seems tired, maybe disappointed, and doesn't trust love to rescue anyone. Still, the love hasn't quit. The mood is bleak but not hopeless, with a dry, self-aware humor underneath. It's the feeling of loving someone, or wanting to, without much faith that it will work out, and doing it anyway.