Shame

I think I was trying to get back. Patrick Bateman
with only the watching myself in the mirror
embarrassingly luckily only it. Thought I looked

good, thought I was pleasing things in my head,
I was just trying not to study,
that was it. If I’d have returned

there’d be no books nor myths or crimes
of me. No looking at myself. No sudden
or silly movements or grand displays, theories,

perhaps staying in love
above it all. Yet here I am. And to think.