no triumph

This is no triumph.
This is not what you meant.
This is not what you meant at all.

Tiptoeing softly passed the locked room
where you were huddled in a corner,
terrified that each breath,
each tiny movement,
would drag you deeper into the black.

This is no triumph.
This cornucopia of loss,
spread out before you
like a Eucharistic feast -
The feast of your most delectable sufferings,
and your best dressed despair.

Take,
Eat,
Drink the cup of your splintered life
down to the dregs.

But this is not what you meant.
No, it can't be.
Because this is no triumph.
This is no triumph at all.