I regret the pretense.
—The smoothness
in which I present what is actually
calloused,
for myself or for others?
To alleviate pity or flatten
these goosebumps?
They are the truth
(What am I doing here?)
from which I cannot hide
(Why am I here?)
(There’s no need.)
(The cacophony.)
so I fold into each crevice.