More Fiction Then Reality

His voice almost didn’t seem real

I couldn’t tell

If he was talking like that because he was at work or not

But he sounded like a character from a movie

And not like a guy who was making my sandwich for me

It’s moments like this

Where I have to double check that I am not in a simulation

But there isn’t a way to check that

Is there?

It’s days like today

That life feels more fiction

Then reality

The lines are blurry

And as I drink more

And smoke more weed

And munch on shrooms again

The lines get blurrier and blurrier

I have to go meet an artists

After this sandwich

That I might hire to make my book cover

But I hired her first

To make something

A birthday gift

And I’m nervous as shit

But I try to be the brave main character

This story deserves

So I take a breath

And let my feet take me where I need to go

What is reality?

And what is poetry?

Where do the lines meet?

Does the through-line run through both?

Where does the art start

And life begins?

Or

Is it all the same?

Is it all the same?

Someone tell me,

Please

Is the art in life

Or is life in art?

When these people feel more like actors in a play

Then other humans

It’s probably time to get some sleep

And try again

Tomorrow.

-C.H.