Under a Rock

I hide within my shell,
An empty thing,
There is no light behind us
The walls of this womb
Painted in sepia tones,
A wasteland of distended flesh.
I dare not come out
To view the world
A war zone,
Home to
Cautiously vindictive creatures,
As much a study in decadence
As denial.
The tendency to feel guilt
And entitlement
In equal measure:
Finding pleasure in
Self flagellation
Is enough to inspire
The wish
To have never been born:
So I stay inside and
Avoid such heavy risks
That could lead
To such heavy regrets,
A practical coward
For a modern world.