i’m dying in agony
not because of pain
but to feel your face
on a sunday eve
while dancing in the rain
is it all an aesthetic
how i dreamt it to be
instead of screaming in the kitchen
about what we’re about to eat
and how you’re throwing fists
in the air
at me
it’s what i tell my kids
about how i met their dad
and the story of how we met
differs from reality
we die for a picture
to be in purpose with fine details
instead of fine lines
we’re dancing on fine lies
of how we’re supposed to be
yet i am just
in a moment
defining myself
in exact detail
far from flowers
of a sunday morning
where people scribe their life for fits
in desire with a tune of perspective
of others
welcome to reality
where we are where we’re supposed to be
defining ourselves for people
who don’t matter
and we’re all just
dying actors
perspective