Escalator to Hell (Bishop's Blues)

I lost my keys,

they skipped off in the breeze,

slithered between high balconies.

I plucked my pin

but the lock’s hole had grown 

like moss on a stone.

With nobody home

(who wants to be home?)

it paralyzed 

then fossilized.

I hung myself

across your chair

when I lost the affair.

Put my legs

through the holes,

and counted my moles.

I thought it only fair 

you remember me bare

but I felt like a germ;

analyzed until despised. 

I lost the road, 

carved one out like a code,

found the edge and swam

out too far.

They crowded to watch, 

said, “Look there she is! Stuck 

in the sand and the salt!” 

They harmonized 

then crystallized.

I lost my voice 

after too many toasts 

and trying to turn

a face to feel heard.

I slipped on my words

even though I rehearsed.

To socialize, 

must be supervised.

I lost the deal

with no corporate appeal.

(They were so impressed, 

how I swell under stress, 

but) I wasn’t enough

below or above.

Look at yourself.

Escalate her!

Learn to lose faster,

or just do it later.