Something less than you..
Touching leaves holes on fingers
following the pattern you carved
on a violently disintegrating skin.
- rotting never was a slow or pleasant process anyway.
Never mind the pain,
the soul aches for a solace never offered easily
as these ways of yours bloom only under your command.
Even a fool would have known
being rejected once sets a pace,
or that he shouldn’t stretch further than he can reach.
Equality isn’t bound to come now for the fool, is it?