She’s dramatization at its finest,
and scripted lines,
and blinded eyesight
in that beautiful
limelight.
She wears those
red-carpet shades
and watches those
lights that fade.
She’s oblivious to
falling stars,
darkened hours,
and unfinished sequels.
She walks home at night,
awaiting flashing lights,
and complimentary words
for that girl who always co-existed
beside the shutter button
and tomorrow-morning-headlines.
She walks home alone, but she likes to pretend.

Tonight,
like every other night,
she cries in the dark,
where no one can see her face.

When she cries, she feels like a
movie star.

(...she cries because she feels like a
movie star.)