Real
A pathetic pantomime this life
The plot going nowhere
An art house film
disguising nothing as something
deep and dolorous
A carnival of calamity
My face reflected in rippled glass
Distorted
Contorted
like a funhouse mirror
My mind a haunted house
of memories I’ve never made
Reciting my lines to an invisible man
who keeps missing his cue
My scenes always ending up
on the cutting room floor
Maybe you drink too much
or I don’t drink enough
to make any sense of it
There must be a thorn
some fatal flaw out of frame
waiting in the wings
left behind in the green room
when you take the stage
My past full of actors playing a part
pretending to feel
I’ve never known real
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