gods

i play a game of charades
as though acting gifts identity
strutting as aces, spades
in search of the winning suit
 
on after-school afternoons
i preen before screens
every mimicry an offering
making your reflections my own
 
i love you like the paparazzi
cameras snapping, running through rain
golden tabloid covers 
printed on my brain
even in the dark where my tears run free
grammy-award echoes glisten off the streams
on repeat
i paper my bedroom walls with your faces
hopeless races, on chases for showcases
spending my sanity constructing fantasy
my existence is a shrine
 
i build my life in the looking-glass
from the fruit of my hands
lurid ink caked under my fingernails
blackcurrant, bleeds onto my sleeve
runs from my eyes
 
the pit of my chest is a haunt
i lay all my broken pieces on a scale
but emptiness is too heavy to weigh
my heart is a few gasps from imploding
and taking me along with it, but
i am already shattered before it's too late
 
gods say seal the cracks in gold
and maybe it’ll keep out the cold
but when i fill myself with your answers
blood and water seep from my fractures

so what
if i directed every measure
and i’m both playwright and producer
gods buy a fleeting pleasure
and i’ve payed in full

there i am at curtain call
before a stage of haunted lives
standing in the vacant hall
clapping for your hollywood lies
my gods, you see
are the demons haunting me