I Stink of Regret

The stench crawls up the mossy drapery in a house reeking with death. The sad part is no one died here, just my soul. A mirror on the wall is a remnant of the God forsaken war among me and… myself. A look in the mirror brings back lost and confusing memories. Days of hard labor and nights of manly pleasure. I try to forget about the vile smell, but it’s just too hard to let go. I cover my mouth and hold my breath- Madness masquerading in my mind's sheath- Decayed dust drifts into the devil’s relief. Trapped in a room with only three walls I sit and wait for a breath I can muster. The longing for comfort in my bones is deeper than the fragrance of loss. I live for loss, and I’d die for it too. This I know. I’m just a dirty soul who clings to death like a suicidal maniac. I’ve been here before though, many times. I’ve felt the pain of delight as glass has ripped up my feet, leaving nothing but the scent of foul blood- Shouts of sinister sins save my spirit- Frustration foretells fever, I can feel it. Strangers visit and violate my soul. They stay for days and after some time the aroma of my secrets lingers on…on…and…on. I’ve hidden laughter in the depths of my stomach and when I am hungry I sit and weep. I cling to malodorous moments. You know, the ones that boil you so blazed you have to peel off your skin for relief- To me, relief is in my poor manuscripts. I write plays of sadness and in the end the Queen always dies from disease or depression. I read verses and sense nothingness. I try to forget the vile smell of pain, but it's just too hard to let go. I cover my mouth and hold my breath- Fetid fragrances free me just to forget- Sanctity savors my sadness as I stink of regret. Fictional write for contest Stink Contest October 2, 2016