End Act

There are no endings
Nor beginnings
They are illusions of the mind
There are only transitions

An evil replicant
A well-disguised poison
Flowing, blood in the body,

A mocking cuckoo
An infinite jest of a mimicking demon

I am nothing
I am nothing but doubts
I am an unprofessional self-skeptic
In a world of perfect actors

Sometimes I just want to close my eyes
Sometimes I am happiest alone
Running, incognito, audience-free
On a solitary path
An act that is truly, only mine.

But this feels like an end
And the feeling haunts my imperfect thoughts
The replicants dance on the stage of ambition
In pristine symmetry
Believing they are human.

Should we continue to perform
An act without love?
If the universe reveals a god-shaped hole
It is only because we live without enough love.

Is this how we communicate?
A jumble of feelings, a clothing of words
I stare at a blank screen
And feel at home
And feel like I want to talk
Without discussion.

Maybe this is an end
But if so, only in my mind
Maybe this is a transition
I am drifting, drifting, drifting…..