Mandible

In the mandible

Of regret,

The name human        

Is carved in jagged strokes

Into my scarlet flesh—

A brand that smolders.

A reminder of the skin

I can never shed.

Each fiber of doubt,

Is a serpent coiled tightly;

Residing deep within my marrow.

It's venom thick,

Its whispers colder

Than the hollows between stars.

Regret has teeth.

It does not bite—

It chews slowly,

Leaving just enough of me

To remember the taste

Of all I fail to hold.

This poem is about: 
Me

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