Rosary Beads

If I write it small enough, in tiny little letters, too small even for me to read without knowing the words, does it make it less?

I'm unhappy.

It's said, and done. Out. Right there. See it? I own those words. I own them every day. They don't really belong to me. I was given them. I don't like to look at them, or say them, or even think them. They make me think less of myself.

I keep going in circles over them. Chasing my tail.

I dreamt this morning, and woke hoping it was prophecy. I'm aware (enough) of my false hopes, false false false.

But what else is there to go on?