Perfectly Flipping Eggs | Whiskey and Words

I love breakfast foods
bacon, hash browns
two eggs over easy
with an English muffin.
It’s my favorite breakfast
and my second favorite dinner.
It’s substantial
it’s home
it never lets you down.

I’m not always
the most perfect
egg flipper
awkwardly
sliding off the spatula
yolk breaking in
the pan
and while they will taste fine
it’s the desire
for perfection
for beautiful
flawless eggs
for all your imperfections
to vanish
and you feel that weight
crushing you
until taking a breath
is too much
and you load up on booze
and the voice in your head
reminds you of all flaws
within you
every mistake
while the house is silent
and you wake up
drunk in the front yard
on a cool morning
in hypoglycemic shock
with nothing on your mind
and puke in your beard
and the medical professionals
won’t stop with the questions
and you tell them you’re fine
that it was
a toxic misadventure
and when you get home
you see the loaded
Benelli on the table
that was going
to put an end to
all the flaws
for good.
Perfection.
Flawless, beautiful existence
and the super ego
is a son of a bitch
and I sit here eating
my blemished eggs
in silence
hoping things will
get better.