Shoelaces

You Don't Deserve the Sympathetic Hand

In my weakest moment, you said what you knew would never do more than hurt me

"Not worth shame, not worth pity"

I never asked for sympathy, I only wallow in the rolling hurt

Let me fall

I cannot get over what buries me

Digging my own grave, playing scenes of panic and humiliation

Blocking out the minute, the small details of content, the fog is overbearing and my lungs begin to stop

Breathing in a worthless image and exhaling all that's lost, memories of rolling hurt once replaced the fog

Suffocating in shame

The end of respiration, but still incomplete

A fuzzy light still burning begs continue; the ecstasy not to cease

A pleasurable end is to be my release

Choking down the rolling hurt and the bitter taste, this corner my last vision, these songs my last embrace

It begs again I fall asleep, this time to a job incomplete

It wants to repeat

A traitor, treasonous to myself, I continue choking down the pain, the handfuls of white shells

Chalky, pastey, bitter things meant to numb the pain, though repurposed, remain the same

Rolling over in my resolve, the cold ground is damp with tears; not those of compassion, but those of my own

Streaming in hastened rain, the fuzzy light is lifted and returns to its place amongst the clouds

And I am better off