“This is what guilt looks like.
Turning away, sadness,
shutting off my phone and hiding it away in the depths of my closet.
It’s burning off my fingertips, it’s lobotomy.
It’s staring up at the plain ceiling, gnawing my fingers raw down to bone.
When the curtains are shut, the light peaks through like a toddler,
one foot in, one foot out, just like my father.
Guilt is: I miss you, I know I shouldn’t.
Guilt is: I’ll miss you forever I suppose.
Guilt is: I missed you and if you ever leave again, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Guilt is: looking someone new in the face, wish it was you.
Guilt is: knowing you can’t be here, wish it was you.
Guilt is: kissing you in my dreams, wish it was you.
I turn on my phone, a false light in my face, a reminder of your absence,
a homesick feeling settling in my stomach,
a feeling of nausea, I love you and there’s nothing I can do about it anymore.”