How many times can I say sorry it’s become a cliche but i can’t seem to stop because the guilt gnaws at me like a persistent child knocking
at your door or a mosquito determined to stick itself in your
veins and keep you up from sleep while he is at it no matter
how many times you swing at it with frustrated fists or bury your head under the covers of your neon sheets the same ones that you had when you were six and banging on your parents' door (although it probably sounded like a gentle knock to them) crying unformed words and blurry thoughts you wish you remembered what it was about so you could talk about it with Dr. Oddo and try to parse it until it all makes sense and maybe even explain why the other day you couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and swelling into the mosquito bite that you were unable to stop.