Crisis.
One too many drinks in the morning.
One too many drinks in the evening.
One too many hours late for work.
One missed birthday cascades into more-
Too many.
One too many broken promises.
One too many excuses that descend into lies-
Too many.
To other people, and to the reflection in the mirror.
Several years on a sofa under a roof that belongs to my sole supporter.
Not any number, eleven for clarity.
I keep my eyes closed to a judgmental world.
“Doing bad? He’s just a lazy bum!” a raspy voice condemns one floor above.
A wooden door slowly creaks open with a whine, out of the shadows comes a toddler boy accompanied by a gang of others his age.
“Uncle Louie, no one ever says they want to be a loser when they grow up?”
“Am I a loser? I am a loser?”
A statement, or a question still waiting to be answered.
Nevertheless, a heartfelt blow to my inescapable reality, provoked by a four-year-old.
