Distraction.

My muse has abandoned me in pursuit of coke whores and tequila sunrise
and I am left to my death, my options:
Gargling as I choke on "what ifs", or drowning in the heartache of my reality
(never as good as I dream)
I am a prisoner of my own subconscious...
But words whispered through prison bars lose their charm.

And so I lose myself in piracy warnings and Hollywood’s glamorous headline
fingers slick with packaged butter and eyes wide, falling...
Feel privileged, few are granted an impromptu visit from a cinematic stoner
as I float many worlds away
letting fantasy drag along these opus bones.

Praying at the feet of Ephron, Marshall, Disney...
Take my shriveled heart
and through the magic of 90-minute romance
turn my pipe dreams into a picket fence reality.