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.