Young Writers Society

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.