Broken

I walk with head downturned as if troubled by the ignominy of showing mine own face. My thoughts are riddled with anxiety from what you told me about myself. Everything I say and do is shadowed by dread. Fear that grips me as I wonder whether what you said about me is true. I'm fettered by what, in bitterness or in whimsy, you said to me. It stalks my being and writhes in my mind.