Bandaging Gloom

The din of a crowd pervades the air,

Tightens around my neck.

The sin of avowed cur made aware

Slight all who stand on deck:

Like Nineveh, loud parades of fare

Might leave them a wreck,

But in a fanatical haze they share

They might soon inspect.

What a scenario here we see,

The crowd, the cur; the key

To the nefarious story

Here is that the cur is me. 

Stranded in a room where I don’t belong

Standing in my tomb engulfed in the throng. 

Yearning to match the people I see

Learning to patch the contrasts in me,

Bandaging gloom where it feels wrong. 

The corner here calls my cautious self,

That I’d escape their gaze,

The scorn and the squall that washes welfare

From my stable ways. 

That thorn they installed can quash hope Delphic

Even scrape, end praise. 

Adorning the fall and sloshing myself

This one, agape, dismays. 

The corner my haven became,

Where they’d ignore me all the same. 

Yet my own weapon here I aim

To live in this impostral shame. 

Stranded in a room where I don’t belong

Standing in my tomb engulfed in the throng. 

Yearning to match the people I see

Learning to patch the contrasts in me,

Bandaging gloom where it feels wrong.