Regret has an anthem that echoes in the silences of the night.
It blankets with doubt, and steals rest with it's own blunt knife.
All the missed calls, cracked china ,and dying gardens of the day,
are like open caskets that were meant to be closed, but I will look anyway.
The luxury to forget all the mundane and colossal will not be found,
for all the shadows blends in like a face is to a shroud.
Yet, like a long illness, rest will certainly come soon enough,
as it passes through the remains of what could have been ,and all that never was.
Prompt 2 Insomnia
