It always starts with one too many in candle-lit boudoirs.
His friends call him pleasant but they don’t know
What he does in the dark.
There’s always someone just right, someone too easy
So he judges everyone’s vices with vivid lust, thinking:
“I hope that she sees me.”
His shirt is fitted almost far too well, do you even care?
He looks down on those who don’t see his status,
He hates those who stare.
It usually ends with him smiling ever so faintly in the mirror.
The bathroom stinks, the sink is stained.
Nobody’s there when lights grow dimmer.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 