satisfaction

Satisfaction

I was, as always, a spectacle.
My eyes, when they were shut,
were like two eraser marks
and when I opened them, you could see all the mistakes.

Such a strange bird I must have been.
The female flaunting her few bright feathers
that ridiculous yellow against brown.

You left when most people are waking up
and offered me no promise of finding an end to the maze
or a solution to the puzzle.
Only the theories spinning in my head
knocking against the skeletal wall.

Was I a whore or a nurse?
A trapeze artist or a crumbling statue?
An addict or a kind apothecary?

Another wedding dress is burning
in the little closet in my brain.
Only this time, I use the sleeve
to light my cigarette.