Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

Man in the Mirror

I don’t remember why I am in this hotel room.

The assorted cigarette packets I see on this table,
Empty bottles of alcohol on the floor,
The pungent stench of puke all over this room.
An amateur drunk, I must have drank to stupor…

They said I checked in last night with two blondes, had a wild party and got wasted.

My mind is hazy, and my memory ill-defined,

But this man in the mirror, is not me.

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