Like plastic parts portraying humanity.
Never changing creatures of habit— (except when I’m not there)
A glorious act of artistic ability
To perform on a stage of lies and deceit.
But, like some plastic: clear, crystalline and cloudless
(A window to the truth)
I can see right through.
Neither regal, nor utopian— like those great costumes and maquillage provide
But bitter, bare, battered and blunderous.
An infallible, fake facet of yourselves.
A play for me to watch (without a ticket)
And, without respect.
Do you practice when I’m not there? (You must)
Just, let me see your naked portrait
Painted by your eternal audience
The gadgets residing inside (Uninterested)
Who see the certainty at night.
Please let me backstage—I will eventually see
But, maybe, I shouldn’t.
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