I find a public restroom
the scent
so powerful
it must be
on purpose somehow,
like those bakeries
that pump sugary air
to attract customers,
urine-scented ammonia
to advertise a piss station.
The air
invading my nostrils
makes my job easier.
After
my pilgrimage to the glass.
I lean over a sink of ashes
gaze through a blur of tears
into wide brown eyes.
I lock onto my reflection.
Stand entranced as
bile
delicately
drips
from my
fingertips.
I stare deeper
into my
watery eyes,
red from my retching
bringing out the green,
they are
empty.
Where’d I go?
stop searching.
give up.
What made you
ever think
you could be special anyway?