"Filter"

It's not real life, is it? 

Sure it is! 

Real things and places, 

Real people, but with false faces 

And different names; 

The plot lines are all the same.  

Never is there an ugly face 

Except on those set up for disgrace 

And characterized as heartless

Even though those that really feel hurt 

End up looking like a mess: 

Crinkled lines, 

Reddened eyes, 

Mouth contorted, 

Vision distorted 

from all the burning acid 

That reveals what you truly saw, 

Altering the film; 

It's a chemical imbalance in your head, 

Showing too much 

Before it's muddled again 

In a confusing cloud of colors, 

Running through the fibers of the photograph.  

Memories come alive again 

Then dry out - a stain of something else.  

Go ahead - cry into your bucket of popcorn, 

Fill up on the belief that you are disgraceful 

Even though you're simply facing 

The truth; then, say the movie was distasteful - 

STUPID - 

Because you couldn't take suspense 

And then disappointment.  

Only in movies 

Do the beautiful stay beautiful

And the villains stay evil.  

What really happened is forever lost.  

How can no one change?  

Perhaps the real memories weren't lost to static, 

But change - 

Maybe on purpose 

So that you would stay 

And watch, 

Yet you still broadcast your disgust and hate 

On something you didn't even make.  

I don't know what you want 

Except for disgrace; 

I've seen you inhale it with haste.  

My lens caught you taunting.  

You said, "This is sob story trash!" 

And dropped everything, 

With your paper-thin face 

With crumbs of garnish left 

For me to pick it up 

And smell the bitterness on my hands.  

I know the real trash.  

Sequel to "Silent Film"