By Ben Sanchez
Gasping for breath,
My essence stifled by the weight of my harrowed thoughts.
Before the mirror, I stand,
Nauseous,
The anxious reflection of my transfiguration unsettling my soul.
Buried in shattered aspirations,
A lonely architect of this chaos,
Yet I fall on my knees,
Plead for redemption.
Countless times I've dwindled,
Far removed from when destiny seemed cradled in my palm,
Now I’m enslaved in a ceaseless nightmare,
A cruel tutor of my myriad failures.
Errant paths led to my downfall,
A bed of thorns scaring me,
Reminding me of my missteps,
Haunting me with a relentless whisper of past horrors,
Spawned from choices of ill-made.
As the final act looms,
I concede to the inevitable denouement,
Yet, even in deaths quiet grasp,
My regrets, undyingly cling to me tenaciously.