1A camera.

SNAP.

Shot

briefly wound.

Blurred edges

reddened eyes

self-conscious description

of me.

I cannot speak in a frozen frame.

I cannot cry with glued-shut eyes.

Make me what you want me

to be? Or not to be?

I can’t conform, I can’t carry on.

I cannot call your name

I’ve chosen this ill-fated life for me,

a life of my twisted vanity.