Third Degree Burns

I am sorry you were
a victim of the fire.
At least you are still alive.
You stand across from me

slightly deformed,
a bit uglier than before,
complaining about how
your mouth can’t kiss
like it once did

worried about your dick
and how it hangs
thick and stagnant
in that funk without soul

like the early morning smell
of booze and regrets
puked on the sidewalk
of streets adjoining bars.

I often wonder how you got out,
and why you survived...
but that is no excuse
for your sad little story

from that side of the mirror.
Get used to it pussy.
Sometimes love hurts a little
Sometimes this happens.