Drabbler

Three words in glaring red:

Subject appears disturbed.

I do not deserve this treatment. 

Another storm that you're left to fight alone.
Remember that you brought this on yourself.
Another excuse to curl up at home.
I'm sorry, but you brought this on yourself.

You're reaping what you sow,
and nobody has to know,
but everybody raises their heads
at the just the wrong time.

Hope is difficult in this time.
Stability shifts with every step
and you're frenetic again
clutching at your face
perfectly still
growing like a vine
like a flower
like a flame
stability shifts with every movement
so don't move.

Subject appears disturbed.

You did this to me.

I'm writing in character
or I'm saying nothing
but trite complaints.
The machinery in my head
rusts away.
The harshness of the day
strips me clean.
The administrations of strangers
fail to soothe
my fevered form.

Who am I, and why do you matter?