A journey through self-pity.
Face leaks clear fluids of varying viscosities.
So, so wronged.
My fault, their fault,
A force of nature, his fault.
Never wrong, never right,
Lips contort and spasm.
So, so pitiful.
Arms missing from this space.
How large this room is.
Spine, femur, fold over, under.
So, so weak.
Sleeve feels spined on face,
Swipes across, punishing, hiding.
This is not adversity.
Adversity does not allow folding.
Adversity holds needles above spasming lips.
Dam them, dam the clear fluids.