The Most Exciting Thing (Disappointment)

Fitting in
as the days creep by
and life becomes a slideshow
of Photoshopped faces and recorded words:

pixilated plastic playground lifestyles
of the young and faithless.

A wagon wheel, face down in the rut,
around and around again,
on a dusty trail to Nowhere
at the slowest pace imaginable:

Middle-class mediocrity,
grayscale nights and watercolor days,
tawdry and smeared like after-party make-up—

here’s the comedown,
crash-and-burn let-down,
disappointment,
a slow poison
whose effect is cynical lethargy.

The bruises that used to mean something
just blend in now,
like nothing smiles and a high pitched laugh,
all the same,
each as worthless as the rest:

every kiss is bland,
every sigh is empty,
the sparkle-and-shine is all gone.

And somehow I’m left alone,
in the rain,
all dressed up and nowhere to go,
my soggy reflection and tired voice
keeping each other company
on the window's mirror-surface,
as Life stands me up again.