but you can’t fool Me,
I see your sadness for exactly what it is,
in between fake laughs false compliments,
& passive aggressive insulting attacks,

I see your sadness that you hide behind those name brands,
Drew House with fake smiles can’t fool me nor impress me,
the only way to get ride of your darkness is to let it go,
share Yourself with others like Shia did with #IAMSORRY,
made some mistakes a couple hundred times but it’s okay,
find a Purpose like Justin admit your mistakes & say Sorry,

you’re beautiful just the way you are, mistakes paved the way,
you are a living Self Portrait,  put your colors on display,
& admit you were so concerned with your own heart,
that you didn’t see the Heartbreaks that you made…

from poem #5 of THHT3: The Hollywood Hills Trilogy 3
available worldwide 9/9/19

****** up by now?
I know exactly how you feel.
Visit our page and
become Helen Mirren
following
three simple steps.
No regrets.

The curtain had risen now the play must start
Put on the stupid mask and wear your fake heart
Say all the lines clear so they must not have to hear
That all your smiles are sobs and all your laughs are tear

Give them the show, the one they always want
Your pain is amusing, entertain them with stunts
If they want you to be stabbed and cut by a sword
Close your mouth, just follow, don't say a word

For no one cares if it will cut that **** deep
After all you're just an actor forced to play the script

Reality, in truth, is maybe just a dream
A hologram of thoughts, you can choose your own theme
The outside, a reflection, of all that you desire
Keep the mind positive or deficiency may transpire

See we are the actors, our thoughts dictate our roles
A human experience, navigated by our souls
The dream is not as rigid as we are led to believe
The mind can alter circumstance but the mind can still decieve

If everything is energy then keep your vibration high
Vibrate at such a level that the limit becomes the sky
Remember it's YOUR dream and only YOU can change the script
Whatever comes your way, you are more than equipped

Reality, in truth, is maybe just a dream
A hologram of thoughts, things aren't always what they seem

Got girls dragging me in every direction,
got me deciding who’s cool and who’s a distraction,
all these reactions to their reactions,
has me needing a recess to retreat from all this action,

but I guess that’s what I get,
for being one of the Main Attractions,
a magnetic poet with ******* stanzas,
dramatic romances and poetic patterns,

hey friend remember back when,
you’d act natural and things would just naturally happen,
instead of being in something that seems reused and rehearsed,
like all the world’s a stage and we’re all just actors acting,

hey friend remember back when,
we’d act casual and things would just casually happen,
as if these writings weren’t written in present past patterns,
as if I haven’t gotten bigger than any of those assorted Randoms,

with a bunch of instances of coincidences,
that are anything but random,
which has switched this kid’s position,
from being random to being one that’s obsessed on by randoms,

and it’s strange to say the least,
how this change has occurred in such a subtle fashion….

See she was my most casual stalker,
just wanting some time to share my space,
see she was me several years ago,
before all these changes in me finally took place,

she was a socially awkward Closet Genius,
the closest thing to me I’d seen since fame,
closed to most of the world which she felt was dangerous,
see she only opened up to me because here’s where she felt safe,

so I warned her of the Energy Vampires,
then wondered if she was one of those Vampire Dames,
you know the type that act all hyped,
then as soon as they leave you you feel drained,
at any rate I warned her to beware of those that stare,
and told her her soul is worth more than any amount of fame,
then excused myself from the entire situation,
because it was time for me to put on my cleats and return to The Game,

return back to writing these writings which wrote me to fame,
and I know it sounds complicated but really it is simple,
only requires a potent combination of mixing the answers,
with the questions in the middle of pros composed as riddles,

like,

how I’ve got girls dragging me in every direction,
got me deciding who’s cool and who’s a distraction,
all these reactions to their reactions,
has me needing a recess to retreat from all this action,

but I guess that’s what I get,
for being one of the Main Attractions,
a magnetic poet with ******* stanzas,
dramatic romances and poetic patterns,

hey friend remember back when,
you’d act natural and things would just naturally happen,
instead of being in something that seems reused and rehearsed,
like all the world’s a stage and we’re all just actors acting…

∆ LaLux ∆

New book available absolutely FREE, please give it a thumbs up here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005

Sometimes, the people who make
The best actors work at
High salary jobs, usually
Being a "too good to be true" success,
Forget about being who you are,
And you can make a whole lot,
But you lose a part of yourself
In the process...

Who cares! It was all worth it,
Hunny bunny!

I prefer my actors live on stage:
Living, breathing, running around.
But sometimes you need a stiff;
I like them to be, metaphorically speaking, upstanding
With a military bearing and patriotic moustache,
Ideally tricked, or seduced, by cunning foreigners.

Once they are dead, I want them face down,
Fully clothed, shot in the back,
Being studied by a stooping policeman,
Or better still, an upper class pre-war sleuth
With a cravat and a monocle;
No need for ceremony with them.

A doctor arrives.
‘What seems to be trouble?’ he asks.
‘He’s dead, you idiot!’ cries the sleuth;
‘Make yourself useful. Get Lady Bounder here a cup of tea.
She’s fainted. Two sugars.’

Enter Inspector Dummy.
‘It looks like ******,’ he announces.
‘Give the boy a medal,’ comes the witty reply.
‘Oh, sorry, your Lordship. Shall I shine your shoes?’

Then there’s a sub-plot, a side issue:
The bones of a victim
Of a botched bank robbery
Forty years before
And the stiff was his grandson.

It’s a hard job, being dead on stage,
Or so I’m told, I’ve never tried it.
I once saw a ****** victim sneeze, twice,
Under a table in the library.
He deserved that kick; nothing like a good laugh.