There is a feeling of shame:
concentric circles of glaring light
undulating red and yellow
surround a burning sun —
a rising heat,
an enveloping despair.
There is rage:
A clenched fist ready to inflict pain
On that inflictor of shame.
There is a feeling of regret,
strong as a white tendon.
A wish to disappear in hidden depths,
Far, far away from scorning eyes,
A desperate need to hide a flaming face;
With lowered head, I pull down the shades.
Someone’s sharp blade
Has cut me down to infant size.