It always seemed special to be alone
At the movies and feel that heightened sense
Of having a part in tales not my own,
But bearing truth for me in their pretense.
Somehow that experience of being
An audience of one has followed me
Out of the theatre, onto the screen
Of my life, into my reality
Experienced as a flat projection
Of actions and characters familiar
That have made my existence a fiction
And turned keen self awareness to a blur.
In spite of myself, I know that you are,
But what am I? Not so sure any more.