It’s an egregious gulp to swallow, to grasp the fact that it is indeed yourself, who has caused all this chaos.

My failings are veiling my perception of success. I am frozen and time does not wander, it does not ponder circumstances and it surely doesn’t care.

These matadors have intricately pierced my body with a barrage of blades and the last one was a bullseye; direct hit to the spine. This was no ambush. Fight or flight ceases and gravity fulfills its physical purpose while I drain.

There is no rock or hard place, just a diluted me, invisible to resilience and allergic to air.

I’m sorry to worry you. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble or harm. This was me.