How long can you go on, holding that pose?
Feeding on dreams of how others must see you:
The poet in his garret, looking for a soul-mate,
You're living on trust you know; nobody needs you.

You chain-smoke by compulsion of the image you 've perfected,
Your poems are inflected in the proper style;
But the projector is empty; you forgot to put in the slide -
The whole world is waiting to see the poet smile.

With one eye on the camera, and one on the projectionist,
You know your whole history is a pack of half-truths
What will they find, when they tear down your façade
Sometimes you say you lose yourself,
But I wonder if you still have that to lose.

Copyright © M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP]