Monday, you made a mistake.

Today your ignorance is dissolved in confidence. Cocktail goes down easy, hangs over like a bitch.

In 3 years, my success will catch in your throat. Unscratchable itch.

In 10 years you’ll know what you lost but not why. Broken switch.

No relief. No sleep. On repeat.

Choking on desiccated birthday cake left out over night. No milk. Can’t eat.

Privately peering through fog for meaning in the shadows of your career. Out of time. Obsolete.

So close to greatness but out of tune.

Your past is bright.

Your future is not immune.

This one is going to be hell.

You “wouldacouldashoulda.”

I’ll never tell.