May 2010
Regret
Written by:
Jessy Andrews
2-25-2010
1:24 AM CDT
Poem 3
I feel no real emotion towards regret.
To me it’s not really an emotion.
It’s merely a darker part of creation.
A darker part of the spirit.
The darker part where only self loathing breeds.
Where all that will destroy feeds.
Not a pretty place.
Regret, if left unattended finds its way to the brain.
Once there it becomes like a fungus.
Hard to ignore, much harder to get rid of.
It penetrates and grows heading straight into the blood stream.
In the beginning when your first in its grasp it feel likes a very bad dream.
I don’t allow any place for it.
There’s simply no room.
If it tries to enter it instantly gets a access denied.
No room for its seed to grow into a bloom.
Like a wound if given no oxygen to breathe.
It will merely just disappears.
Evaporating like the rain left from a storm that ends suddenly dissipating in the sky as it clears.
That is the freedom from regret.
It’s just a word.
It truly holds no real power.
Only those who believe in it allows it to exist.
And when they open the door it becomes harder to close.
I’ve watched as this has happened countless times.
I’ve watched as it has come to haunt those close to me.
The mystery of why they allow this to happen remains unsolved.
Regret in itself should be dissolved.
But, it’s exposure is very much on a wide range.
Reluctant it is of course to merely change.
It’s a part of our human condition.
A part of our governing psyche.
Breathing in its toxic breath.
Following us into our very moment of death.
I refuse its company.
A key it is to the very corer of depression.
An emotion in itself is strong enough to ****.
I feel no emotion to this thing called regret.
Complete I become still without.
It’s place within me has no residence.
Look inside and what you’ll find is such clear evidence.
©Ministries of The Chaotic
Written by:
Jessy Andrews
2-25-2010
1:24 AM CDT
Poem 3
I feel no real emotion towards regret.
To me it’s not really an emotion.
It’s merely a darker part of creation.
A darker part of the spirit.
The darker part where only self loathing breeds.
Where all that will destroy feeds.
Not a pretty place.
Regret, if left unattended finds its way to the brain.
Once there it becomes like a fungus.
Hard to ignore, much harder to get rid of.
It penetrates and grows heading straight into the blood stream.
In the beginning when your first in its grasp it feel likes a very bad dream.
I don’t allow any place for it.
There’s simply no room.
If it tries to enter it instantly gets a access denied.
No room for its seed to grow into a bloom.
Like a wound if given no oxygen to breathe.
It will merely just disappears.
Evaporating like the rain left from a storm that ends suddenly dissipating in the sky as it clears.
That is the freedom from regret.
It’s just a word.
It truly holds no real power.
Only those who believe in it allows it to exist.
And when they open the door it becomes harder to close.
I’ve watched as this has happened countless times.
I’ve watched as it has come to haunt those close to me.
The mystery of why they allow this to happen remains unsolved.
Regret in itself should be dissolved.
But, it’s exposure is very much on a wide range.
Reluctant it is of course to merely change.
It’s a part of our human condition.
A part of our governing psyche.
Breathing in its toxic breath.
Following us into our very moment of death.
I refuse its company.
A key it is to the very corer of depression.
An emotion in itself is strong enough to ****.
I feel no emotion to this thing called regret.
Complete I become still without.
It’s place within me has no residence.
Look inside and what you’ll find is such clear evidence.
©Ministries of The Chaotic
