I am in mourning.
In mourning for my past self, passions, interests, hopes and dreams.
In mourning for the could-have-beens, you, my darling.
You held so much promise. You were supposed to be clever, inspirational, creative.
You could have been that. A shining gem in my always-dark world.
But I did not raise you right.
Broken promises, sloppiness abound, overwhelmed, filled to the brim, like an overflowing reservoir, uncontrollable, uncontrollable, I couldn’t think, I can’t think.
And so there you are, a shell of nothingness. A bottle of broken hopes, self-loathing, unfulfilled desire, apathy, too-much-sentiment, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your skin a softness that only pure, unadulterated embarrassment can bring.
Never again, I say. I shout. My voice verberating against the walls of your glassy exterior, echoing a million times hauntingly, threatening to shatter the little self-dignity that I still hold. Hear me out. Never again. Never again. Never again. Never again.
I bury you in the earth and water you with tears of disappointment. But the grief never goes away. The disappointment, the dread, the embarrassment, the regret. The sorries don’t make them go away.
And to whom the hand belongs that you were slain, I say again – I’m sorry.