I didn’t choose this.
I am broken, huh?
Fate’s trashed what’s left of this…
spoiled my remanence.
Cursed, mortal drama.
Neither a resemblance,
Of patchwork done by those oh so ignorant.
A figment, one outdone by belittlement.
A garnet, buried- never harnessed.
Or blessed. Or possessed.
That last word leaves me so obsessed;
For, if one leaves themselves to themselves,
What is the purpose of asking for help?