he says she’s pretty.
she knows it,
but she still needs him to say it.
she laughs, and smiles at a joke.
it sickens her. she hates him.
he loves her.
he doesn’t know her,
he knows the actress,
she's perfect and unflawed, he can’t see through her.
after all, she’s good
at what she does.
he takes her hands
to make her feel pain.
it’s okay,
it’s all part of the act.
sooner…
or later…
the curtain closes.
but she doesn’t get the last bow,
or applause.
just another audience, come in,
for her next performance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem