Bad Seed

Guilt as a constant drip of toxin.
A scathing flow of revilement.
A constant beat of blood
pounding behind my eyes,
exhorting me to arise,
to rise to the occasion,
to fall upon my knees in shame,
begging for any scrap to salve
that gnawing, angry pain.
A constant burning exile.
A ring of fire — pass not beyond this point.
Far from metaphoric journey,
life is but a downward spiral.
What could such an open, curious, loving child have done
to merit such punishment?
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