Wake Up Cinephile...

The regalia of the silver screen comes at me like a speeding car,
And then there's just me and you.
My mind's blocked with useless clichés and I feel as though I'm letting you down.
Don't get me wrong! I care for you; I think.
I don't know what to care for anymore,
My life's hit dead-end, rock bottom, lowest of the low.

I long for a dramatic distraction,
Maybe let myself be hit by a car, wind up in a hospital bed with you there,
Holding my limp, broken hand.
But this is life, not some movie.
Happy endings don't grow on trees and all I can think of is "How would Peter O'Toole react now?"
You lean in to kiss me and I imagine I'm fucking Geelgood or Richard bloody Harris!

Why should I live my life like a film you ask?
Because I'm unable to live it any other way...
I hope and pray for a single moment of black and white movie to draw us togther for good, but it doesn't come.
Our love is there but it's broken and dead,
So much for a dramatic distraction,
I'm just left to my pointless existence.
Wake up Cinephile,
Sort your life out,
That's right, Life...