From Shemali (theshadowseeker):
The house is in shambles, barely visible among the overgrown weeds and ivy. My footfalls are heavy, reluctant almost. The rust of twenty years falls away as the door swings open. An animal screams. I crumple to the floor as it overcomes me. The ivy is disappearing. Revealing white walls with one splash of red.
La Monte-à-regret (The Regretful Climb) – The Guillotine
Last steps i take..
Last wisps of air..
into my rusted lungs
Last glimpse of the eyes..
like a dying star..
My mistake, My feelings
Led me to tread these dreaded steps
The rusted wooden stench..
The stench of death
Surrounds my woeful soul
One last time..
Just like the for the soul I stole..
From Musical Chairs:
Each took a seat to form a circle under the warm lighting of the room. There were faces familiar, worn out, bright eyes, and complete strangers.
"To live without hate is to live without blame. To live without shame is to live without guilt. Who are you to claim responsibility?"
"Who are you to avoid it?"
Upon entering my room, his fingers slowly traced my lips, while the other hand grabbed my hair. In an instant his tongue moved along mine, hungrily tasting me. My stomach turned. A mixture of guilt and butterflies overwhelmed me. Downstairs, my sister yelled for her fiancé to hurry. He left the room, without turning back.
She was worried that her friend would find out. It was an accident; one that really shouldn't have happened. They were drunk and had spent the night together, she and her friend's husband. She couldn't bare to face her friend and it was this guilt that was growing them apart.
Even as she reaches her hand out she knows he is gone. She watches him sink into the dark abyss; a cold sick feeling grows in the pit of her stomach. Why didn’t she offer to take turns? Why didn’t she make room for them both?
Survivors Guilt: the true story of Jack and Rose.
It speaks so very well, but it never thinks of the consequences. It blames, criticizes, ignores, insults and gives all sorts of mental pressure. Yet it neither regrets nor feels guilt. It sure will exist till the hour comes to an end. We are bound to live among it.
from the Old British bridge to St.Anthony's..
Being a passer-by
I've never seen her alone,
but with some stray puppies..
I could throw nothing at her,
even a 2/= coin,
inscribed in all three National Languages:
'Year 2000- Shelter for All!'
Now feeling guilty..
I've just exploited the poem hidden in her..
From Pubudu Sachithanandan (@atticus900):
I hit a bump on the road
while cycling this morning
in the rain.
My dictaphone flew
clattered behind me, I
found it in a puddle
watched the digital read-out die
with my stories inside.
Leaving home is a bit like that
except its no accident
You fly, you decide
to leave your stories behind.
“Don’t you want to make your parents happy?” asked her mother.
“You want me to make you happy?!” she replied incredulously. “I’ll be married, to whoever this guy is, for the rest of my life! Shouldn’t I be happy?! No, mama, you can’t try that line on me and try to make me feel guilty.”
She was his constant, his “wing-(wo)man”, his confidante, nursing him through many a brutal heartbreak. She was the keeper of his secrets. Not once did she utter her love. As he bitterly discovered that falling in love was mere youthful fantasy, and “true love” non-existent, how could he refuse her? She had always been there.