Kafka: I exist in a corridor without doors,
where names crumble before they are read.
Each face I create dissolves into the mist,
like a crime without a defendant, like love without a letter.
Marilyn: I exist in the light that never rests,
trapped in a mirror that only returns desires.
Each smile I wear is a poorly told story,
a mirage made of flashes and applause.
Kafka: The city whispers rules that I do not understand,
the walls tighten, the courts never close.
I am part of a theater without a final scene,
where even my shadow is a defendant.
Marilyn: Beauty weighs like a poorly kept secret,
prisoner in the brightness that draws me and erases me.
My face is a coin that everyone collects,
but no one dares to spend.
Kafka: Perhaps we are just pretexts,
shadows narrated by invisible hands.
Our existence is a poorly stitched essay,
a book without a reader.
Marilyn: Perhaps we are just memories,
put up for sale in a nameless shop window.
Our history is a scratched script, a star
extinguished before the morning.
Kafka: But if no one sees us, do we still exist?
If the image fades, are we still us?
Marilyn: If silence recognizes us, perhaps.
If the forgotten still dream, yes.
Kafka: Then we go on, like shadows without a crime.
Marilyn: Then we dance, until the last flash.
Laika: Woof, ruff, arf…
Brilliantly penned, PAR. Into the book it belongs! This may be your masterpiece my friend, or perhaps one of many masterpieces in your case. It’s incredible dialogue but their tongues speak poetry, not just casual conversation words. Damn, this was Chef’s Kiss. Thanks for sharing my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks for being there my friend. ❤
The back-and-forth banter is done well. The use of questioning each other I enjoyed.
Thank you, appreciate you!
The dialogue was great. Your a talent. Well done my friend.
Viva Keith… I keep waiting for your comments.