"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"