Streched across my shame

Some people feel no shame. Lucky bastards.

Think about it. They are content. Happy, even. Confident. They've found peace. They do what they do, and they'll keep doing it, never questioning.

No doubts means no shame. What a blissful state it must be. The unattainable.

Time heals all. Right? Right? I wish. So much. In the meantime, what am I supposed to do? Burn? I don't believe in purgatory after death, but there is definitely one in this life.

It's licking the flesh off my bones. The gentle flames. Such humble thoughts, so much praised, but demeaning and cruel. They expose and undermine everything I've built on. They lay me bare in front of everyone, yet nobody appears to notice. How do I fend them off? They keep coming, stinging. I'm tired of fighting them.

So tired. Am I allowed to be tired yet? May I? Mother please? I didn't turn out the way you wanted, but could I please let go anyway? I promise I'll... I don't know what I could promise you. I have nothing to offer.