mid-life.

Everytime I look in the mirror,
I watch myself die.

I watch my hair fall out
like the cigarettes i've been smoking
are actually working.

I see an old man
upset with himself,
for how he treated himself
and his lovers.

I see an old man peeling back his skin
like wallpaper,
letting the memories out
like ivy.

My hands are old,
my feet
tired.

I wanna go home,
so let me go,
please, let me go home.

Turn off the lights,
pick the feathers from my spine.

Open your mouth;

let me hear something,
let me hear something.

Paint a pretty picture across my chest.

Let the bloody lipstick paint my neck.

Scratch holes through my chest,
try to find my heart.

I don't think I'll feel anything.