When my head hits the pillow
the director calls action
A play only to be seen
in such a lonesome fashion
Any mistakes or missteps
will surely be featured
Along with, "did that barista think I was cute?"
"how could he, you're a creature"
Still the scenes play on
edited by an army of what if's
Supporting characters fade in and out with ease
but the moon, the stars, and I stay stiff
The volume gets louder and louder
I can't drown it out
Maybe something forty proof
would clean my insides of this grout
At the very least it could help
close these curtains sooner
I have a feeling inner peace
is nothing but a rumor