Six Poems About the Pain of Regret

in #poetry3 years ago (edited)


“What Might’ve Been”

Hell is awareness of what might’ve been
If only I made different choices
The timeline I want’s not the one that I’m in
For this reason I’m haunted by voices
They scornfully mock my attempts to escape
From what is, to what might’ve been
Nor, I lament, can I rewind the tape
And try it all over again
Among all of the creatures in nature
Man’s the only one that can cry
Consumed by the fight to survive through the night
Those creatures must contemplate why
How are we so weak that our eyes should leak
Must confuse them to no end
Their oblivious minds will outlast mankind’s
For they don’t dwell on what might’ve been

“Final Sleep”

When you loved me life was beautiful, now it’s cold and grey
There is no longer any warmth, the color’s drained away
No food is delicious, no music is sweet, my heart has turned to stone
Nothing is funny, or will be again, as I grow old alone
Winter has arrived again, never to depart
The sun has vanished from the sky, as I have from your heart
I wonder to my lonely self, struggling along
Perhaps the sun would rise again
If I wrote the perfect song
My hair turns grey, my face is wrinkled, skin hangs off the bone
Still I wander through the snow, searching for my home
But home was you, and you have gone, never to return
Just a faded echo of your past, I’m none of your concern
Quietly into the night I go, heart filled with regret
It hurts me to remember, but it hurts worse to forget
My body sinks into the snow, collapsed into a heap
My beating heart begins to slow, as I prepare to sleep
I will not dream, it’s safe to say, this slumber is my last
A life of pain, cast out by all, heretic, iconoclast
My eyelids close a final time, behind them is my friend
Facing death, I’m not afraid; you’re with me at the end.

“Make Me Believe”

Give me a reason to continue
Something that I can believe
Make me feel as if I am still real
Like there’s anything left but to grieve
Everyone I care about is going, or gone
It’s draining the light from my eyes
Laura, my sister, Amanda and you
Everyone leaves me, or dies
I wasn’t worth sticking around for
I possess nothing special or rare
It was foolish to part with a piece of my heart
I surrender myself to despair

“Waiting to Die”

Nothing’s worth anything now that you’re gone
Everything’s hollow and grey
The sun has gone down on my happiness
My purpose was taken away
There was only one woman I wanted to wed
One life that I wanted to lead
I’ll count down the minutes until I am dead
And until then, continue to bleed
I do not belong in the world of the living
You were the reason I stayed
What is there now, that I should remain?
To ensure that my debts are repaid?
Fifty more years of taxes and toil?
Escapism, gaming and porn?
Like a frog in a pan slowly brought to boil
There’s nothing left of me to mourn
You’ve eaten me up from the inside
Then you discarded the shell
You didn’t even bother to lay any eggs
You moved on, but I’m still in hell
Right where you left me, and where it began
When you lifted me out of this hole
Only to drop me back down here again
Due to factors beyond my control
There isn’t enough time to start over
I don’t have it in me to try
You were the light which saw me through the night
Without you, I’m waiting to die.

“My Heart”

My heart is a vestigial organ
One I no longer require
Dried out and wilting, a derelict building
Surrounded with rusty barbed wire
My heart is for sale, only used once
Average to poor condition
No longer functions, but fit for display
In the offices of a mortician
My heart is the rain on a window
An autumn leaf, dead on the ground
My heart is a bag of cats dumped in a river
Even though they were already drowned

“Broken Memories”

I’m done with being human
I’m tired of this Earth
Of all the misfortunes I’ve so far endured
The worst of them all was my birth

Who is that man in the mirror?
I don’t recognize his face
How did I get here from where I once was?
I don’t recognize this place

Everything is broken glass
In the reflections, I glimpse better times
In each little shard a memory is trapped
Within the triangular lines

Try as I might, I cannot unbreak it
I bloody myself in the attempt
Perhaps it was never unbroken?
Then brokenness was the intent.

The fact is, life was never good
Happy memories are a lie
We’re here to hurt ourselves and each other
Until, at last, we die

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