
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