saviour's price

—and I am so sorry

that you look back on the things

you did with every

good intention, and wish

you could scramble them all up and

stuff them back into the gaping indignity of hindsight 

like a sleeping-bag, spilling out

of a condensed space—

—and I am so sorry

that tomorrow’s a storm tainted

by overthought—

—and I am so sorry

that yesterday’s guilt fogs up 

today’s paradise—

—and I am so sorry

that you had to write the antidote 

to pain, painstakingly by page—

—and I am so sorry

to witness saviour’s pride

falling through your fingers,

like blood-red grains of rice.

the perforations in your palms

look like regret up close.

you caught a falling star

that burned through you—

—and I am so sorry

that your past is

crawling out of the dark—

—and I am so sorry

you survived just to feel ashamed

of the measures—

—and I am so sorry

you feel disgraced

even though you saved them.

© Mollie Mardel