The Visitor

I was certain of the mistakes I had made---

that they were, in fact--

mistakes

But the the infiltration of regret started to set in---

to creep through the pores in my skin

And I could smell its plan to do me in

to cloak me with melancholy

and the infinite sadness

I thought it unfair that a human being couldn't be this calculated---

this ambitious

And with a striking sentiment it moved up the confines of my throat

wrapping itself around my esophagus

staking claim

announcing itself as the magnificent parasite

But then---

there were always things to say.