So many panics, so many floods

Guilt and remorse, what-ifs and blood.

Should we have… could we have… why didn’t we…? The replay runs.

..wishing terribly that dark rust-red color was mud, only mud.


Today has been tearing

And pain;

Blood spilled,

Trails in the kitchen.

Fear and pain, sharp to be tamed

Anxious and selfish, now bereaved and blamed?

Have I done something terrible, is this guilt rightfully mine

Can I ever escape from this dread in time?