The dichotomy of jumping from synopsis to synopsis,
promises never kept,
believing it was you and me against the world until I looked around and found, I was alone.
Another restart.
Unfulfilled dreams stare back from the mirror, and the umbilical cord still wrapped around my spirit, grounded, unable to fly.
Freedom was, Friday nights with the boys, with the kind of laughs that eventually echo through a police sirens haze.
But even that feels borrowed.
Hollywood in name only becomes a mirage with glossy edges, made up hallucinations of reality as not all massages come with happy endings.
Inspiration from The Stranger, offering a whistle that inspired something from younger days.
But if that moment had truly happened, I wouldn’t be here.
I’d still be there, lost in the masquerade that even poetry struggles to describe.
But I’m alive.
So giving up isn’t an option
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Chu The Cud 