TheFeatheredSleep puts words to that dark burden.
Is a rare bird of shame
Its plumage
Breathtaking
For guilt
Captures the beholder, willing or not
Averting gaze from all else
Guilt will render paradise dowdy
Comparing freedom with the chains of its capture
Guilt is an old, fond bruise
Reminder of moments left torn to shreds
It will piece them carefully back
Twice as convincing, twice the weight
Strung round your neck like noose of sea pearls
Begging to be drowned
Guilt is a rose bush with bleeding thorns
A shudder as you catch yourself thinking of
Those pursed secrets you’ll never disclose, even to yourself
Snapshots you expunge, that still, listlessly, rise from the depths
Never speak of it, even to the merry faced doctors
Plunging their needles as far as they’ll go
Guilt
Makes you sick
Wan faced, old before your time
Aloof in the varnished secret
Guilt
Steals your liberty
But like a lie
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So well-written. So true!
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