On regret

Liahm Blank / POETRY

i sit in a burning room

with burning hands

and burning lips

behind me

the pillars of salt start to form a blinding city

and yet

i keep looking back

as if my fascination is with that which is no longer

as if I cannot stop the salty tears

i weep

and in between my muffled sobs

and stinging eyes

i make out what is written in smoke

this too shall pass