Self-pity glows within me as red as your tongue, when poison drips off of it.

You spill my deepest agony as if it's a secret you can't hold in.

Your vile words twisting my elbow a little each time.
But my crooked elbow never seems to break.

Just like my unending need to tell you my aches.

Each time you choose your words wisely. Or how else could you remember what would bruise me the most.

However, absolution comes easy because you never held yourself guilty, and what worth am I to question the great?

The one who swallows despair but spits bane.