My regret is a junkie,
knocking at my door hours before dawn,
needing my peace just this one last time,
just to get through the day.
Sometimes I’m too discouraged to deny it.
I’ll listen to it’s repeated ramblings while it’s sifting through my days and nights, looking for joy to steal and destroy.
I am weakened by the loss and the helplessness. It’s the glass that I slam into. always with surprise, cutting up old wounds that can not bleed anymore.
It’s the home movies of my past being shown in vibrant color and nauseating detail. I am a captive audience that laments,
embarrassed and ashamed.
Through many years of tears and pride,
my regret knows it’s unwelcomed.
Yet it’s through those very tears that wisdom has blossomed
and strength grew through the tough soil of my heart.
Armed with these, I can shut and lock the junkie out
and listen to it’s fading, stumbling steps.