The blame does not rest on me.
For the blame does not rest.
It lies no place on this ground.
So how am I to shift it?

I am truthful in my indifference.
Yet disdainful of the truth.
I suffer in the cold of what could be,
then blanket myself with the blame.

There is a rot at my center and I refuse to name it.
There is a blossom in my core and I yearn to save it.