Blame and Shame

I’ve fallen down so many times, can’t tell the ground from the sky. I feel the white way of hope, yet can’t even take a step without spite and futility following me into my home, my hearth. My love is a pretty pair of eyes gazing at me, weeding out my faults, seeing through my own looking-glass heart. The hurricane blows past my window, passes me by--then returns with a vengeance, gales full-force throw me about. I see the ground rush towards my face, a sickening dull crunch--then silence. Laughter, mocking me, taunting me, chiding me for not doing right. Sitting with my head in my lap, hands fluttered to the side, my insides rotting and moldy, screaming to the moon to let me be, don’t let me see my true self. My true self--a collection of your worst nightmares--worms and ghouls, her under the bed, waiting and watching, seeking to drag me under and claw me, subdue me, expose me for what I am--a fraud. Let me be. I do not care. I am dead--do what you will of me, then let me be. Shaking and sobbing, with throbbing head and aching heart, sitting in a corner, mumbling, inert, catatonic unto myself. My true self--a demonic, selfish being who uses them who will bend to her will. That she calls power is a lie. Self-absorbed and full of doubt, she manipulates and is manipulated far more skillfully. Shy and secretly saucy. Today is the first day of the end of your life.