There's regret, shame,
and a dozen dozen times of
'I wish I'd take it back'

That's of mistakes, blame,
and misjudgment decorated
with two licks of misfortune.

You, me; everyone.

But I don't want a time machine.
Not because it can't work, theoretically,
nor because it'll be a mess if it did

I don't want a time machine.
I want that **** on my back.
I want my cut hands.

I don't want a time machine.
I want my insults to stay.
I want my old friends' grudges held.

I don't want a time machine.
I want my lost to stay dead.
I want my living to stay alive.

I want me. This me. And you. And everyone.

So there's that stuff
in the first two paragraphs,

and there's peace,
and it's been staring me in the
eye for way too long to miss.