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Crumbs of (Dis)comfort
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,
T
he 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.
