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.