The day always comes. The slip up, the misstep, the inevitable comeuppance. The monkey shows its tail, the stars fall where they may. The begrudging breath, the sickly beating on my own heart. The spell wears off or I can’t keep up the charade. As is the way of all tautologies, fucked is fucked.
I got nothing. Not a played out fragment, not some whipped up confection of words and weather, not a list of wishes to dismiss. Sitting on the front porch with the songs on shuffle, the wind doing its thing, drinking coffee and trying not to cry. Another troubled set of receptors, the wretched flesh of my existence, the hard urge towards the inevitable. I have to let go.
The lesson is there is no lesson. Other than don’t be the other, being yourself being okay depends a lot on who you are. For other people, finding their voice will be rewarded. For those of us who underwhelm, you’re more likely just to be ignored like everybody else. Fuck you, fuck me, fuck em all. Nothing but the long shadows. Nothing but the broken mirror.
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