its coincidental that we are reading The Scarlet Letter in class
it goes hand and hand with my regrets
a constant reminder.

rather than eating away at me
the guilt grows inside of me
except it lasts more than nine months.

similar to Chillingworth my soul is "lonely and chill"
i've tossed aside every good thing
like a scratched record or old worn-down novels.

there's a strange illusion between who i am and who i appear to be
like my favorite halloween costume
except there are no treats only tricks.

i'd be Hester Prynne's best friend
we could relate and count our flaws like astronomers count the stars
we'd compare who is worse
us or satan.

she wears her "A" i wear my smile
but we both wear shame as well as we wear our favorite dress
every lie threaded together to form the perfect sin
the same gown we wear on our deathbed.

the secrets flow within my veins
sometimes i wonder where all my blood has gone
it dropped to my feet making them deadweights
except the only weight is the consequences on my shoulders.

guilt.