What The Actor Wrought

This poem was inspired by the song "The Hall Of Mirrors" by the group Kraftwerk.

A gilded actor, burning in an icy tomb, drowning in his shriveling expulsion.

Such graceful, gorgeousness, now carried to dance in pitiful sty, dripping mournfully.

If only he could testify for his pride and forget the surrounding salty waters rubbing his sinking boils.

The clouded projectors are screaming to the audience, preying unknowingly, twisting commonality.

He leaks his flowery tokens, trophies, and trinkets, once fiery to those who dared to applaud.

Now, this disheveled man of expression sweats, softly against his fingertips, harshly against his lungs.

He fantasizes about escaping, releasing himself from his egging fallacy.

No matter the direction, a pillar of frigid redness beams upon his naked skull.

A mirror towers above his drilled existence, taunting and threatening with piercing shards of glass.

Calm is the night, stitched are his fuchsia lips, as the actor turns to face his glistening, joyous double.

The double shouts with aching fullness of his colorful extravagance, but the actor simply wonders:

“How has a plastic spyglass immensely tortured my once lighten glow, merely from the image of myself as a common oddity?”