On occasion, one comes to understand
That life as a fictional character
Leads to an empty pit, and the effort
To remember the lines corrodes the soul.
In these rare moments of blessed darkness,
One is faced with a choice: to tell the truth
Or let it ride. One could lead anywhere,
The other to the bottomless cavern.
As you consider the choice, images
Of faces turned and sounds of sighs pull hard
In one direction, demanding you call up
The courage to deny them attention
If you have any real intent to learn
The hard part of acting without a script.