Self-Pity

By: Quina Parchment

 

“I remember those days

when I was happy to be alone,”

I told her one night.

She nodded and said

to tell her more.

Gazing upward,

I thought I might

recall something faithful

about glittering stars,

lighting every Night.

But I cried instead

thinking, “What a dread!

I feel like

one of the billions of them,

hidden.”

 

So she drew closer,

Self-Pity,

to hug me, hold me.

I wept and said,

“True companion,”

resting my head on her chest.

 

But then

she ripped my skin

dug with bare hands

and fled

with my heart

(I

left

lifeless.)

swifter than

I welcomed her

in.