Torture

Regrets drip in the back of my mind,
All the time, like a broken faucet
No matter how tightly I turn,
It keeps on leaking just the same.

I try my hardest to avoid it. I do, but,
The sound of each drop grows louder,
Until I can hear nothing else, it’s torture.
Meanwhile, no one else hears anything at all.

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©Mayra Gomes. All rights reserved.