Shame

For a few fleeting moments, the colors of shame mellowed, fading to merge with the color of his skin. And he pondered.

Shame is not debilitating
The feeling it induces inside is.
Each buffet endured, pushing life closer to tipping point.
Shame, an entirely personal possession on a distinctly public occasion
Armfat hanging slack in a row of taut arms,
And the accompanying sidelong glances
Bits of an entirely personal belonging distributed among a thousand minds
Opinions collected as a token of involvement
Challans dispensed for remembrance, and a precautionary measure too
The overt character of shame
Shame is ignominy, embedding a public construct

Free verse buoyed by his thoughts, flew unmindful of gravity. It was his mind that was the most stubborn leech. It was what went on in his head that made him squirm and want to rip it out. It made him want to sleep; be a cat, a dog; be blind and deaf; to inflict physical pain that could mock at what was immeasurable mental anguish. Deep in moments of shame, it dawned on him that nightmares are known for their tenacity. That they accompany you to doors of despair; leave you to suffer; then escort you on more miserable journeys.

On these journeys, his fixation was pulled away from all the beauty in this world and he couldn’t but be preoccupied with a single crippling feeling and he felt worth his most embarrassing deficiency and his mindspace was littered with humiliations—it was after he had been through all this that he had begun to view his destination: nakedness.

Snapping out of his deconstruction, he managed to smile and resolved to enjoy the sedateness while it lasted. Until the next wave hit him and the thin fabric that was his skin turned see-through.