Crumbs of (Dis)comfort

Dark secrets fester 

In the inside pocket of memory.

When you least expect it-

You're reaching for a hanky or a coin perhaps-

Fingers accidentally find them, 

Crusted crumbs of guilt wedged

In the tight corner, defying extraction.

Oh, how you long to be rid of them! 

To cast them out into the light! 

The temptation to expose yourself -

To write what cannot be righted,

Admit the Do-not-Do that yet you did,

The act you're most ashamed you hid

And locked beneath a heavy lid -

Its stain still red, and still not rid.

You'd think it would be easy,

To take a secret out and toss it 

Far, far away. 

But crumbs stick to sweaty finger-tips

Get under the fingernail, or worse,

Break into smaller crumbs which nestle

Like grit in a shell, producing pain, not pearl.

Secrets deserve the dark. 

They'll be at home in my grave.