So pack your bags we’re going on a guilt trip. You’re not so innocent, but don’t tell me. Your new voice has got that tinge of bitterness. The ghosts of hope have vanished. Don’t tell me that you’ve changed. I can see it in your face. As it ends, my life begins. I’m staying bent. A blind man’s dream, our final scene. I’m on my way, take me there faster. So hop on, I’m going on my ego trip. No more fucking commitment. He’s got a Lexus, that’s quite impressive. I look away but then the stains of yesterday cloud my mind and I say: “I’m sorry for living for that perfect feeling.” I’m fine, so sublime and dry-eyed.    My bent life.