I sit.
Patiently waiting,
For the words I dread,
To trickle out.
For my heart to freeze,
My mind to blur,
My stomach,
To go loose.
Sitting is not the problem.
It’s the anticipation,
Of the news,
That slowly grinds,
The life away.
My brain,
Dragging me back,
Through years and years.
Finally highlighting,
All the missteps,
And the wrong moves.
Failing to answer me,
As to why it chose,
Not to show me,
At the time.
So guilt,
Piles onto guilt,
And turns to hate.
Bringing me to this point,
Where I must ask,
For answers I already know.
To ask and know,
Yet need to ask,
Knowing that to do so,
Brings finality,
Cutting away hope,
Letting loose,
That tiny bird,
That fluttered,
“I might sing”.
These things,
Are all my doing.
Sins of the past,
That I am destined,
Never to,
Be free from.



One response to “Untitled

  1. I know this set of circumstance very well and you have grasped the situation well of regret. The betrayal of self which you are well aware of yet having to explain the convoluted and twisted circumstance of failure to someone else. Been there, Done that. Great work. Come by sometime to marktone.wordpress.com and check out a piece titled WHAT I HAVE BECOME leave a comment to anything if moved to do so.

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