sometimes i think my life is a movie,
my consciousness a delighted narrator,
except these aren’t all paid actors,
just some people i met over the years.
friends laugh at my every delusion,
my words are not a plot device,
forgetting how they have consequences,
the character gets no sleep at night.
my love interests don’t speak in haikus,
don’t run after me when i try to leave,
or affectionately rub my back at night
as i finally fight to fall asleep.
mortgage bills pill on my desk,
i look stupid smoking cigarettes,
main character energy is hard to come by,
when you have severe asthma and a god complex,
i guess my life is not a movie,
but at least it passes the Bechdel test.