On shame

Because I do blame myself for the games I play, in competition with

The perpetrators. Whose fault can it be more. What door did I leave open for robbers to come in, I should have been more alert. I should have given the shirt off my back to thieves. Which I did! And said, are you pleased with me. Is it easy enough. Im not bluffing. here you go, for free for nothing. Im bleeding. Whose fault is it. It is my womb, my room that I birthed myself into, the bed I made I must lay in.