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Catching fire

I felt I was wearing a mask in my head.
The kind that goes unseen. Unsaid.
It sat around my skull and was pressing in.
Like cellophane stretched really tight and thin.

I only noticed it when, one day, someone said,
“Is that that Capote actor chap? I thought he was dead.”
He looked right at me like I wasn’t there.
And it wasn’t he was rude or didn’t care.

It was just his brain going into movie mode.
So, to him, I was 2D. Not there on the side of the road.
After that I saw it more and more: people seeing 2D;
People seeing the world like they’re watching TV.

Engaging less and less as they withdraw
Until they find the only other door.
These aren’t even my words
This is just another story,
And just another script catching fire.

4th February 2014 ©Simon Welsh Poetry
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