I live
In a cardboard cutout house
Our plates and silverware
Are plastic
The food adorning them
Plastic as well
Glossy and vibrant
But poisonous if consumed

No water will pour
From the sink or tub
If you try to turn
The handle

The plants are fake
The dog is fake
The microwave won't turn on
The floor looks wooden
                           (which may be the case)
For there is no carpet
                           in sight
No decor to behold

I try to pull back
The sheets on the bed
Only to find
That they're entwined--
Attached to the mattress
That feels more like
Pottery
I lean down to see
                           "Made in China"
Etched on the side
Of the frame

My footsteps echo
Down the hall
On the wooden floor
Of the cardboard cutout house
Until I finally see
Something living
Something real

Until I get close.

Her skin is matte
Her eyes are dull
Her teeth are chalk white
Her hair (maybe made from silk?)
                           sits perfectly in place
She is positioned with a smile--
                           Her vinyl arm bent at the elbow
                           Masquerading a friendly wave

She is merely a sculpture
                           A doll of a human being
Filled with wax instead of tissue
Factory made, not a product of Love(TM)

I escape
Away from the figurine Mother
The clay bed
Hard floors
Prop kitchenware and
Plastic food

Because a cardboard cutout house
                           is not a home.

We both read our scripts,
but we're not on the same page.
You and I are just actors
who treat life as the stage.

We rehearse our lines,
but they're not what we mean,
for once lets break character
and call cut on this scene.

We could steal the show
if we rewrite the play
and end the charade
of this macabre matinee.

We've reached the finale,
there's no encore after all.
This is our shot,
our last curtain call.

Though so well I hide,
And my life's a masquerade
Though, evеrytime I cried
And told: "That's charade"

Though many times I said:
"Don't believe my tears
My heart has never bled,
I'm cold, I have not fears"

Though acted as the happiest, see
Wore wide deceitful smile
When heard : "Go, live without me"
I thought : WIll it be worthwhile?

How easily can world colapse
When heard:"Get out of sight!"
You know, on the church steps
The atheist cried.

Though thought soul's eternal,
When heard:"Forever goodbye"
Stopped the song vernal,
Eternal soul died.

Yesterday, everything was for free,
And you made everything glimmer and glow,
Brought sunshine and flowers and bows,
Without asking one thing of me at all.
Today, you stand there waiting on my $,
Watching me as though I am a criminal,
One who invaded into your sacred world
For themselves and with no rules to follow.

Now everywhere one looks it's a "buy now" sign,
Displeased that I won't give you your "moneys worth,"
Joy in the pleasure of the things that are free and fine,
So you took everything free and made it much worse,
But will impart the same old good times to those who
Are willing to part with yet more pennies and dimes.

Words tumbled out of an aluminum commode
into a hungry mouth: naïveté.

Libations atop a tin altar
in a squalid temple rife with the stench
of lascivious youth
bemoaned battle cry
transcendent in the sound of forever.

Coming of Age
a cleverly disguised charade
kept in place
by a smile that never breaks
until dawn.

White noise
cryptic static
proselytize
vomiting mucus-draining corpses
a parade of mindless disciples
dancing to the beat
of the heart in a distant star
whose life perished in the forgotten past.

Fabricated promises of maturation
facetiae in the frozen teeth that
only part for the stubborn tongue to
lap up remaining consciousness on the floor
like a begging dog.

By himself he's weak
but among many he's a god.

A song bludgeons the eardrums
"Tonight, tonight, to-night": Repetitio est mater studiorum.

There's a voice in my head but
you put a hand o'er it's mouth
and pried mine open with
the monkey's paw
clutching a rose goblet
containing spiritual cleansing.

I've got a good idea
but bad intentions
and there's enough feculence wrapped in flesh and lies
to make this place feel like Heaven.

Stuffing my mouth with promises and
fallacies
that won't become clear until the
bottle is empty.

I'm washing away all the pain
and the hurt
right?
I'm a man now, risen from the
dirt
right?

I'll put my trust in the siren's call
reaching through the fog to grasp
her by the hair
I fall into the murky bog
beleaguered by strangulating tendrils
wrapping around my frail bones
I feel I'm being pulled under
and I'm all alone
I see their shimmering faces on the surface
distorted
in the reflection
peering into the soul as I
make my descent into the abyss.

Waking up a man with a
battered conscience
Compromise wraps a warm blanket around
me and places coffee between
crusty and brittle fingers
A gentle kiss on my forehead
is the finishing touch
leaving me alone with my baleful torment.

Coming of Age is a charade.

Live in the dark, sharpen the steel,
Play the charade, mould of grey clay,
The bump in the night fills you with fright,
Indulgence in the air? Make the "sinful" care.
Vacuum the world, the big flag unfurled,
Bump in the night,  neighbour takes flight,
Pollution in the air? No one seems to care.
Slow work to get by, free lunch for the fat guy,
Masterful touch, the poor "lazy guy's" on the crutch,
A place they can afford to stay if you think they're OK.

The pretty devil,
Dressed well,
Full pouting lips,
Cheap perfume smell,
Gets you every time,
All you need
Is to play divine,
Living in your own world,
Boys worship every step,
Although your striped stockings
Seem as if they'll curl.

Perhaps I am hard to like,
     No one understand how I used my bike.

Perhaps it was me,
          who understood first
                  of their perspective's meant to be.

Perhaps that is why I stay away,
                         always a step ahead in my foolish play.

Perhaps you never notice my distance,
                                for I am alone in this charade of existence.

I thought you could see through my disguise
See through the charade of everyday
I thought you were different
From the others
The ones who tell me to
Get up
Get moving
Or get out of the way.
While everyone else was herding past,
You offered me your hand
You were the first to tell me
I was worth it.
But that was your game,
Your play.
I wasn't special, not to you.
You led me along
And I enjoyed the ride,
Not realizing that it made me
Just like the
Rest of them.