Drama

my chin rough (with my eyes wide shut) listening to the voice of my

head moving fingers across white. but why don’t

playwrights-to-be and luck (no chance there)

seem to meet how do you do?

the lucky ones

survive on their fortune made

from epilepticfame. but

these are (my) dreamde il lusions.

with my one-word titles and

one-liners, I

run too many lines all at

the same(or different) times since

all actors are good multi-

taskers

on stage the theatre is

criticalviscious at best

and we all do judge (imperfecting) persons.

we are all

f i ck l e and we all love

to hate. (it isn’t our curtain call yet,

we don’t have one.)

for life is just as lovely

as an act (we tell nothing but truths).

it’s all in the wordplay.

yet,

even after all is said and done,

(life is) everything is just an act. (we lied.)