Flooding until my tip toes
grace the skimming surface,
as the beaming orange beacon
waves the crescive guilt.
It folds over,
gently tumbling until
the vicious reality sinks--a beaten track.
Rising until it strikes the surface
fizzle, to eruption
denial, to justification.
My blind eye disentangles the obscurity
and the pixelations form a rough outline
painting an image of sufferance.