A man stands in front of a mirror wearing last night’s makeup. He knows he should have taken it off, but he didn’t. He was having a good time, living his truest self, and he got home so late (so early). He thought for a moment, take your makeup off, but for whatever multitude of reasons (this is his truest self and he was tired) he went to bed.
A man stands in front of the mirror wearing last night’s makeup. He debates removing his nail polish, but decides against that. It’s glitter, and removing it before coffee is a fool’s errand.
He picks up the remover and begins to take off his eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. It’s stubborn, but in the end he wins the battle. He moves on to his cheeks, nose, forehead, jaw, removing the blush, concealer, foundation, contouring. He begins to look like a man. How we think a man should look. He stares at himself in the mirror, his clean shaven face with bright red lips. He puts his lips together and blows a kiss before removing the lipstick.
He looks in the mirror at his naked face. He takes out dry contacts with some trouble. He blearily stares at himself before beginning to rub his face. He rubs his skin off, leaving his meat exposed. He removes his eyes. He pulls his muscle and sinew away. He is a skeleton. He smiles at his handsome bones, his well-defined skull, his perfect, white teeth. He begins to break his bones. They shatter. He crumbles into dust before the mirror.
He is nothing.
Tate A. Geborkoff is a queer artist from Chicago. His poetry has appeared in Juked, Curbside Splendor, Doctor T.J. Eckleburg Review, and Burningword. As a playwright, he’s been selected as a semifinalist for the National Playwrights Conference and his plays have received national productions. You can find more of his work on the audio drama, Psychopompos – a new mythology, wherever you listen to podcasts.