Director’s Cut

You appear the harlequin herald.
Trance bound, held and wound
Around your own reflection.
Diamond dusted to ward the wary
With gilded glances and nary
A second thought for the fallout.

Call out and fall in for the next audition
Painting them with practiced praises,
Positioning pieces like dominoes.
Rows upon rows that you lined up,
Get up and set up to take the blame
And knock each other down to drown.

Victimless victor to the camera eye
Blocking view of the broken bodies.
Wine soaked revelry became reality,
Twisting the conscience to turn blind.
No choice and no voice for the only,
But lonely no more they scream as one.


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