He's not golden.
He's been ten toes down for the last ten months.
Working to get a foot in the door and the other out of his mouth (for once).
To look down on him is to misunderstand his craft.
Watch him slash at his expectations before penning a draft.
If actions speak louder than words, you won’t hear a thing.
Because to him, acting is far from actually writing.
Even as this pursuit of brightness takes its toll.
He’s unconcerned, overwhelmed and out of control.
You can find him liquored up on the rooftop.
Legs draped over the gutter, bottle down to its last drop.
In his mind, there's no rest for the weak.
But he needs a week’s rest, desperately.