I dwell in a state
of continuance.
Merely enduring
my time here in essence.
Awaiting the place beyond
this reality.
This life is fictional
and I only play
the part I was cast in.
A fabled actuality,
where I move from
scene to scene,
in monochromatic backdrops.
Same monotonous routine
carries me through each act.
Trudges me through each day.
A montage of factual imitation.
A permenance of lonliness
and isolation,
in which I struggle, toil
and force my way along,
till each curtain call.
My pretense is a smile.
Laughter; my props.
Simply a facade.
The impression
I wish to portray
to the captive audiance.
Oh, the hipocracy of self
I fabricate in make-believe joy.
When in all actuality...
I'm only existing,
in nonexistance.