Moving silently through this script,
Missing line after line,
And waiting for “Cut!” but
It never comes when expected.

B-roll calls for morning dew,
But I’m riding through a desert on the back of a red horse.
The sun reflected off the camera so bright the few crew
Members begin to face North,

Avoiding my face completely, though I can still see the lens
Catching my guise, my eyes, and my sighs
While I once again play pretend
To answer the hows and whys. 

I’m so far off, though, slipping away from the set.
I can only remember my drug-fueled performance
Because it was captured on film for the world to ingest.