Trying to remember
the last time I felt full.
The way a grave feels full
with a coffin inside it.
The way a coffin feels full
with a corpse inside it.
The way a corpse feels full
with a life of regret inside it,
and nowhere for the regret to go,
so it always feels full.
Trying to remember
the last time I did not feel
like a corpse.
"I write, I voice, I am."
William S. Friday 
Please, remember that you are among the living and not a corpse. I don’t even know where I’m going with this. Every October 31, I evaluate whether or not to become a corpse. November writing month keeps me around as a reader. Your writing is chilling though. What if we became a corpse and our regrets could not escape?
see you tomorrow.
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Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Jaded! I’m always so thrilled that you read me every November. I am grateful beyond words and measures that you are here to do it. Remember that YOU are among the living and not a corpse, and every November, that keeps me around as a writer.
See you tomorrow.
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Wow, this is probably one of my most favorite pieces I’ve seen from you. It’s going to require time to process the absolute resonance.
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why is there so much regret?
why can’t we forgive ourselves?
why can’t we let go?
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It’s poetry, Matt. We write in the moment. Hopefully we move forward. I originally wrote that, with very recent rewrites, in 2019. And then, I moved forward.
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Ahhh. The moving forward. Excellent. Those questions were for myself, anyway. I should try that whole moving forward thing…. Maybe tomorrow.
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