i didn't need an actor.
a good one who remembered his lines like he written them himself.
one who truly acted like he liked me and was so good at showing it,
even i -the director- found it hard to determine that he was acting
im backing up again.
fading into the props on set
and every night i indulge into old filmstrips,
to simply admire how great of an actor he was.
i didnt need to feel the compulsive emotion in every dramatic movement,
in every photogenic stance,
in every waking moment
the camera could not capture.
but i didn't need a fucking 5 Star Emmy winning actor who was so illuminating he's too bright for the stage lights.
whose emerged into the scene like he really desired to be there.
like he actually gave a fuck about the soap opera bullshit that oozed from his fucking mouth like saliva.
an actor
who vernacular is so incisive
i could not even think to fight it
i would not even possess the ability to utter scene.
who could even muster the courage to intervene with the witnessing of movie screen dreams.
// e.b.
YOU ARE READING
DIRTY LAUNDRY
Poetryjust another underrated poetry book, a poetic photograph of the saddest months of my life from Jan 2016- May 2016 ***BEWARE PROFANITY***
