for the Hollywood hearts

with apologies
waiting on lips,
and the rotting words
trapped on their way out,
the plot is written in regret
and played out
only in silence

The world turns white
under the styrofoam sky.
It's still red in here,
but you gotta wait for such things.

being almost weightless,
floating between pale-drained hands,
a script drops to the ground
as a ball of bad ideas:
the ending is ruined
before you even say a word