Ah! This is the measure
Is this the cloak that I am to wear infinitely?
It does not befit me
No. Disgrace does not suit
This frame that is in pursuit
Of honour and pride shrouds hopefully.
Ruin is not the cloth I want
I rip through it joyfully.
I tear through the gown shame robes me with.
I turn in this obloquy for praise.

I rip through this cloud
That hovers my head
The shadow that dampens my spirit
And makes my mind split
Into several pieces: minutiae of pain.
Each strongly woven into my skin.
I rip through them
Going back to nature’s herm
New beginnings forebode fear
But it is better to shed off
The old skin of infamy.
No more will I be identified
By my tears and tatters.


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