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T.R.E.A.T.S. #12 – Faulty Lines

 

Some walk away and never look back

Like movie stars they learn how to act

Live on a set, then burn it to ash. Fade it to black.

 

The Solo cup in my left hand shakes

As you arrive at your party late.

I smile and plan a humorous “hey.” This plan will break.

 

Life won’t bend to your script’s action

Or a scripture’s prophecy.

Both are entertaining factions,

Splitting personalities.

 

Young, bright-eyed people fill up the bar

Like candy in a transparent jar.

Estimate how alone they all are. Won’t get you far.

 

A curvy spirit sits on my thigh,

Weighed down with wine ironically dry.

Takes me to depths where characters lie. Red tongue and eyes.

 

Life won’t bend to your script’s action,

High times only your brain sees.

Thoughts are racing without traction,

Making sport of reverie.

 

No peace comes when you premeditate.

Idea as childish as a blank slate —

Tabula rasa layered like plates. Fault lines will quake.

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