i can see it oozing from my pores,
brought from my veins
straight from the source
and i’m tired of feeling worn
and poor, and a lack
of faith in my own

this is the second night
i’ve stumbled in with
a broken promise
wrapped around my wrist,
an “x” opposite my palm.

last night i almost gave it all away.
20 years of careful saving
for a time, a memorable occasion,
gone in a lonesome fit of rage
fueled by an ex who barely
still knows my name.

dammit, i’m sick of reacting this way
(and i hate it when i swear)
i’m not a fan of clichés, and i feel
that’s how i’ve been walking lately.

can you remember me,
and save me from this mess i’ve made?


One thought on “regret

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