Fame Poem by Bakhtawar Waqas

Sculpt a life of artifice and foreign daydreams,
Your face is not 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 face, it belongs to the prying, dissecting eyes,
That scan, breaths held, for flaws to feed on, to tear down,
To devour You, the idol to their envious altar.

You are a character, a constructed thing.
When the eyes that watch announce,
Like the leaden tones of a judges guilty condemnation,
The command: to entertain,
You will dance yourself to death for their approval.

You have a hundred starving friends,
They swear they know you,
(Call you by names you've never heard)
They drink in your life like a numbing liquor,
Bittersweet as the empty ache of 'I wish'.

This is a society of hunger, and in it,
You are but another thing to be consumed.
Morality is for people, but You?
You are a spectacle, an incident, a morbid interest,
The screech of train tracks and the ensuing crash,
Crowds watching the blood pool, breaths held.

𝘈𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, you think, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥.