Guilt.

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Guilt.

Bound by it’s steel shackles;
tightening it’s teeth around my neck—
the inner pain so wicked,
yet I’ve desist to capitulate.
I cannot feel.
I cannot see.
I view like a Scientist—
for there Psychology is out of the question;
I seek logical facts.
A notion of such being does not state the precision;
I cannot deceit myself as a remedy any longer.
The mental laceration I’ve created upon myself;
the life I’ve wasted—
The time I’ve lost—
My mind of mayhem—
I am internally dead.
I am to blame of the mess that I have created and
lured myself into.
I am of guilt.
But I am to heal.
Alas!; the gates of opportunity,
shut before I could speak
after the long recover—
I am ashamed.
Bummed.
How could I have been so ignorant?
So stupid?
But then I realized:
A lesson to be learned;
shall it never happen again.



That's how we should measure our lives. Not in distance traveled, or time passed, or worlds conquered, but in moments... and the rush of joy—of grace—that exists within them.
— Megatron (Lost Light, by Roberts, Lawrence, Lafuente)