When the show is over,
nobody is there
to give a fuck..
but you.

By you,
of course I mean
just me.
The One who’s
speaking
in the mirror.
My beloved
other half
of royal we.

I see you clearly..
through and through.
About as clearly,
probably,
as you see me.
But do either of us
see where our
performance
got us?
Clearly nowhere.
So there’s nothing
to write home about.
Who would be there
to write about it
anyhow?
Who would be there
to read?

Nobody that important..
maybe nobody..
but me.