“Where did I ever go wrong,” I wondered—
staring into the bathroom mirror,
tugging on my chest hair,
as if plucking these thin gray lines might reverse time
and restore my wasted promise to something bare and new,
dripping with plastic;
Dripping with glances at the potential that young guy over there has.
“I had it all,” I mumbled—
thick pink foam sliding from the edges of my mouth.
“I’m going to kill myself,” I proclaimed—
as I began polishing the bathroom sink,
burrowing the tiny white particles of grit
around the smooth surface of soapy porcelain.
“shit,” I observed,
as I had once again run out of toilet paper;
Forcing me to hobble bow legged into the kitchen
and find a less than suitable substitute.
Most of my life was spent
finding a less than suitable substitute
for most areas of my life.
And instead of the hallway drapes being closed,
I found my audience gawking,
while I tried not to spread the shit all around.
“Forgive me,” I begged my neighbors—
pulling the t-shirt down over my junk.
But they said nothing,
sitting silently front row,
waiting for the end;
Waiting for this man
to take a final bow.