"I like the games I play,"
He confessed, trying to impress,
To make the questions come to a standstill.
He twirled and twisted the truth,
Making little white lies become poisonous butterflies.
"The boy was never perfect,"
Is what they say, as comfort,
It makes him want to scream,
But all he does is smile, and agree with them.
"I'm proud of being such a good actor,"
He states with assumed pride,
But its more of a sad confession.
The howled sound that let loose from his throat,
It sounds more strand then it should be,
But no one questions;
His quick silver tongue catches their attention away.
He has to keep his image up on stage,
So he keeps up the delighted look as the cameras flash.
"We have so much in common,"
Another states, and the boy thinks he going to be sick,
He just wants to take a remote, and click!
