BB Grey–musings

“Failures”

The floor was littered
with the pamphlets of his life—
grease-stained,
nicotine-yellowed,
some with rust-colored pages
that might’ve been blood
or last Tuesday’s spaghetti.

He knew them all
by heart:

The Novella of Near-Misses
Brochures of Bad Decisions
that fat volume
Regrets: Collector’s Edition

But the one he kept
in his back pocket,
worn soft as old money,
was called Failures.

Negative title.
Positive readership.

He could quote whole chapters
in his sleep—
knew every ending
by heart—
yet kept turning pages
like some junkie
licking empty baggies,
chasing ghosts
of what almost was.

Just once more, he’d lie,
then I’ll quit.
It’s not hurting anybody.
The devil you know, etc.

Outside, the world moved
in grayscale.
Inside, the familiar sting
of old wounds
felt almost like comfort.

At least this pain
came with instructions.

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