Blamestorming

Though I know
In the deepest reaches
The most private of caverns
Of my quiet and hidden
Soul mind heart
That the words
That echo
Thought
The empty halls
Of my conscious mind
Reek
Of self blame
Not good enough to
Not smart enough
Good enough
Pretty
Thin
Elegant
Poised
Enough enough
To be what I should
Doing the needful
All there is
That requires doing
All I hear
Are the muttered
Screamed
Scowled and snarled
Epithets
That cut to the bone
Wound
In ways
That make the saber sharp ice blade
Green
Hot
Vile
With envy
They scream
These words
Until
All I can hear
Is the hollow echoes
Of voices gone by
And I
I curl
Around my
Invisible
Invincible
Not quite palpable pain
I poke at it
My stick
Honed sharp and smooth
From years
Of practice and wear
I poke
At the dark circles under eyes
Hollow cheeks
In hallowed halls
Tear stained glasses
Taste salty
When I lick them clean
Leave only footprints
Hoard only memories
And I roll with the voices
Until
The voices are calmed
Quiet
Spent
And I
I can rejoin
The voices of the living
Semblance of sanity
Peaking through the cracks
And quiet
The blamestorm within

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