Expectations

It separates, from subcutaneous
Fat,
layer by layer,
epidermis, dermis, sub dermis.
And between the layers and underneath,
an acid bile flows in.

And swim in it I do,
a loungey back-stroke of, self pity.
It fills me all the more, with this bloated bile.

And I glory and I dive and I plunge;
with fetid smirk of,
I told you so, and I never, and I don’t.

A stagnant pool of needy pout.

And the smell of failure
rises to my nostrils, and I am glad.
It is what I expected after all….