I awake naked in bed, coughing, sneezing my reconciliation of last night’s cigarettes and alcohol, the indulgence. Then those too often regrets drum, echo pensive through my lungs like a clogged drain, a call to slim the habit, the abuse, the nonsensical. I stumble, pacing cautious steps in my semi-consciousness to the kitchen, pondering the early hour til my eyes adjust to our star’s slow yawn through the curtains from a hazed evening blue to a dull, hammering dawn. A drink of water. It’s then I’m confronted with the sneaking illumination of my tasks for the day. Those responsibilities that insidiously dissolve into ego and mold themselves into form like unending chains. These seemingly relevant, essential, yet utter meaningless structures that so many carelessly cement into existence with little if any hesitance or retrospect, until they’re unlucky souls are left with only an opaque facade of comfort and resolution, albeit a fashionable, aesthetic, pleasing image framed ever so subtle by our modern pop tape measure. How the mirror does abide such covetousness.
