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  • Writer's pictureMegg Kelly

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Updated: Apr 13, 2023

I can’t try if the lead won’t write.

I can’t live with a fever in the sun.

Can’t suffocate full of atmosphere.

Can’t breathe full of lies.

Can’t stop spinning my top on all I’ve missed.

Can’t stop thinking,

what if?

if I could sit in the sun with a fever

if I’d burn so bright the light could never go,

what if?

If I could think in just for now

not in jammed film strips

playing a dead scene

waiting to be seen.

She’s a hack in small dreams, they say.

Medicate yourself,

see how it feels then.

It’s all small talk

never big enough to be heard.

The playback button rewinds

to the parts I want to skip.

That place knows too much

said the mimic I’ve worn so long.

Impossible to move forward

on a script that won’t play.

Will I always be sad at the end of the day?

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