poetic catharsis

In retrospect

I can’t’s,
I’m sorry’s,
maybe’s,
I’m sleeping’s,
next time’s,
I’m working’s,
I miss you’s,
and I love you’s ,
all in cyclic playbacks
at specific AM’s
and PM’s
and sometimes
unclassifiable hours,
slaying expectation,
feeding frustrations,
switching moods,
razing days.
In retrospect
to too much cake’s
and too much icing’s,
I’d rather
be fat and diabetic
than this
emaciated,
fatigued,
and
almost
amnesiac
to you.