I had my chance for a happy life, or at least for a meaningful one,
and now all that’s left is an artificially prolonged apathetic wait
for a prompter to cue from behind the limelights my final line.
Meanwhile, I watch cheesy romcoms and wonder what I could
have done to keep that clumsy affinity from feeding on my raw
impatience and why there was no ticket for a night train between
our pillows.
hidden pilcrow 