A target of the most severe,
alone in my disease is dangerous.
Hermits do not get well,
but the world demands that I become the recluse.
Sappy snow queens with brown terror,
shatter eyes and ruin gut.
Nice would be to reverse all the irremediable ruin,
but even so, I’m never well enough.
Could someone save me,
allow me to become the good being
I’m expected to be?
So natural for me to detest myself,
when others hate me, it is hard enhancement.
My personal qualities are abhorrent.
How do you run from fear
being full of fear? Shields don’t work –
Loaded women dissolve my armaments.
It is all so rotten under my covers.
How might I be revised?
Not by attacks from the scum and the good –
There is no center.