The truth is
there is a howling wilderness in your chest

you get by on lies
(people don’t want to know truth
unless you are on stage
or producing paintings
that will never go on a living room wall--
who could live with them?)

people say
smile
people say
pretend you are happy
soon it will be so

(yep. soon it will be so--automatic pilot through your days until one day the days stop--you’re out of time and there’s a look of surprise on your face as you go down.)

you don’t know the answer
perhaps there is none
you either smile
or you don’t.

Bruised and hungry
you don’t want to do the happy dance no more
you want the blade in hand
knees bent
arms wide
to take it on
to fight
because you have never fought before.