When Sorry Doesn't Cut It

When Sorry Doesn't Cut It

I laugh trying to go on as if nothing
I did was wrong
and nothing I said was hurtful
and no one I knew would care.
Then at nights when I am alone
my room is cold with the shadow
of you lingering from days
where light reflected onto my cheeks.
I close my eyes to ignore and expunge
the guilt sprouting like dandelions,
beautiful and infectious.

“All the world's a stage.”
and I the sole remaining actor
weeping to myself at the side curtain
wipe remorse like snot
onto the backs of my hands
run them down my thigh streaking
self pity and self loathing to dry
like snails moving across rocks.

I pull a hoodie over my head and leave
the thick fabric to shroud my irritated eyes
from the stove light and deafening cacophony
crescendoing in a houseful of silent screams.
My neck drops in apathetic indifference
onto my folded arms, hair tethering skull
to shoulders with overgrown vines and bobby pins.

I laugh, I cry, I sleep, I clean, I cry, I vomit, I cry.
It's times like these I think love must surely existI just forgot to make a reservation.
- Sarah Wagstaff