Carrying this burden upon bare skin,
naked apathy swallows whole
any ingenuity a new direction holds.
Burning chains, invisible and inconceivable
to the world encompassing, buried secrets
so deep, their ink tattoo marred
in pale serenity.
And still, head held high
continuing as if nothing in the world
matters more, than this moment
What’s gone is gone, links forged in regret
carried, lamented, added, remembered
with respect-a mistake never to be repeated.
In the quagmire there is clarity,
a stillness, although chilling
brings with it some respite.
Once, it would have served as an anchor.
What’s gone is gone,
links forged in regret
can be used to feign freedom.