Didn't move

oh yeah, this patheticized injury
is real. i feel sick.
do not remind me of humidity or
of entrapment; this shock cuts
deeper than seventeen ugly wires.
in my flesh, I feel a retort.
back off.

shruggling, disconsolate,
bushy,
here I am in a baseball cap
and baggy sweater undone
waiting for you to
come over and misdiagnose me.

If I feel ill, sweetheart,
I am ill.

I said I'd never let you go,
but I yearn for
a release value.

Where is my shadow,
my remarkable excuse?
the noose?

Instead, I'll be rude.