The curtain falls

You know, sometimes I wish I had

At least three hands,

Two brains, and—please—no spinal cord.

I wish I could afford

To drown in quicksands

And resurrect in several hundred years. Thus said,

I am delusional to every bone; the things I lust

For are ridiculously dumb.

But still, I wish I had some

Faith, some trust

In what I could become

With a proper dose of make-believe.

But what I see are many things I can't achieve.

Is this soul-searching worth the pain?

If it's a game, then what's my gain?

You know, if only I could have more clay

I would for sure sculpt my better self,

And I would nail it: at least three hands,

As for the eyes, I'd make it twelve,

Instead of legs, there would be wheels,

My DNA would have three strands.

You ask me how it feels.

It feels just great,

I say. I never tell the truth.

I still need to ablate

My spinal cord. Nothing to lose,

We smile. We laugh,

I think I fell in love.

So low I fell, so deep I'm stuck.

Nothing to lose. Now wish me luck.

You know, sometimes I think

That every time I blink

I miss some things I should have not.

And there's a knot,

It keeps my throat from throwing up

The scraps of joy and dry red wine.

I'll stand in line,

I'll wait; it is my cup

Of tea I crave so utterly right now.

The curtain falls. I bow.