by Lizardin Bain

Regret

The sickness is spreading

the hands are not steady

the foundation is shaky

grasping at straws

conjuring pitiful excuses

but still loses its shit.

At least, it’s done privately

as much as it could be done

and there’s no fun

nor in picture nor in feeling

dreaming can’t help my case

but to erase is a step

towards weary first regret.

2 thoughts on “Regret”

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