remorse
he sat on the floor,
drowning in solitude,
with a beer can next to him,
an open notebook on the mattress,
the ashtray on the windowsill,
and his eyes fixed on the pages
of his previously written poetry.
he felt immense remorse -
feeling like he wasted his life,
penning the unlived,
but what could he do?
he was an observer by nature.
©LukaKorba
With love,
Luka.
