I’ve told so many lies, it’s all become a lie
so, sure, I’ll tell you the truth, although what
difference it would make is hard to discern:
I am the little that remains. the rest is in pieces
you’ll find in other people’s stories and rumours
all that remains is very little indeed. there may be
fortune in men’s eyes, but it turns out I make bad
choices in the ones I want. health blown, blood clots
from all those tantrums thrown, some on screen,
some on set, some I prefer not to think about at all
tell me where is my crown, my golden robe
employment prospects zero, I even applied to work
at Disneyland, never heard back. I black out now
find myself somewhere and don’t know how
I got there, then someone recognizes me and I flip out
I go apeshit which everyone thinks is me being funny
but it’s not, because all I want is to be left alone
that is my silver screen now, I head out the door
I star as a walk on in all these very small stories
I go apeshit, again, because I can no longer tell
what is real and what is not, you, everyone who wants
a little piece of me, don’t even fucking begin to explain
I know who you are, you want this fucking interview
to end? all you have to do is whisper, “Cut.”