Remorse

I call Remorse
by her first name.
She sits with me,
reminds me of autonomy,
and the consequences of "to be."

She weighs upon my soul
occupying a different heaviness
than other close ones -
Heartbreak,
Grief,
Resentment.

A club of dark figures
Collectively
charcoaling in the shadows
within the lines
of my hollow mind.

Remorse is worse than the rest.
She reminds me that it is me this time.

No mother, no Father, no Consolation
will transfer this illness to another being, some other force.

Remorse holds a mirror to my face and says, look closely, how ugly, how weak.
And when I look, I see, I agree.