Painting our protagonist
as a tragic figure
We are so well versed
in representing life
from our glass
half full of empty
Pictures worth thousands
of words
made of PoV shots
and filtered to fuck
self portraiture
Living a lie only
works if you believe
it yourself
"What a minute, who
am I here?"
juggling so many faces
attaching the wrong mask
It's all so overwhelming
all this politeness
for politeness sake
I can't do it well
my acting chops
dulled, got soft
and I lost the desire
to pretend I'm anything
less than miserable
misanthropic, zombified
with apathy, narcissist
self loathing waste
of time and space
I walk with stooped shoulders
carrying the weight
of my death wish
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