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