Axiomatic Apologies Graffitied Across My Chest

I don’t feel comfortable looking at myself naked in the mirror,

so I could only imagine what my wife feels like with me sleeping in the same bed as her,

an amorphous blob filled with carbon, meat, and bones

that have been poorly taken care of for the past, what, now thirty-two years, damn,

has it really been that long, which is what you tend to say when you aren’t old, but you’re not young either,

you’re just sitting in the road contemplating 401(k)’s and a trip to Vegas to gamble whatever money you forgot about back in 2012 when you bought a couple of bitcorns as a laugh,

then realize your stupid financial mistakes might not always be the dumbest thing in the world,

but dammit, no matter what my bitcorn fortune might be, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a gutless piece of meat sweaty awkwardly through a life I just stumbled upon and still don’t know what the hell I’m doing, though hoping some talking head will take their head out of their ass long enough to tell me,

though needless to say, I guess what I’m trying to say is “I’m sorry”