What's swallowed is swallowed--
It's that weak look you give an enemy whom you know has ransacked you
But whom you must tolerate

I should rage against it, right?
But my memory fails me anyway
Pieces of me crumble and drop into the nether
Uneven microcosms of my own death

Insults that leave me raw and burdened
The black is the black,
It is not me but what i am lacking
The destruction of my soul
Tiresome