Compassion Inverted

Wings released and grubs abandoned, you finally set off again on that bright air and flat stone that had some time ago lost its secret sweetness but was nonetheless still that familiar, leaden challenge that now plummeted to... a thorn? No, to itself, pointing to its spindle, alleging, “This is you,” watching your softness puncture, recognising vinegar blood, and so seeing its own.

Disgust

I came home and saw myself in the mirror.
I understand if you don’t want to see me again.
I’m a failure of humanity,
Or perhaps a success.