regret is a nocturnal beast

by Kathleen Pastrana

Regret turns nocturnal 

like a predator in the dark, 

drawn to the scent of fear,

hunting with fangs more venomous 

than my treacherous tears. Undetected, 

it lurks in the shadows 

of a short-lived situationship,

a phantom of affections

that never truly exist. 

Sometimes it festers 

in wounds that refuse to heal, 

preferring to hide only 

in crevices that cradle pain, 

beneath surfaces in danger of collapsing

and other times it dwells on what-might-have-beens,

in the ashes of desires left burning too long, 

settling like a brick in the pit of your stomach

the moment you realize 

commitment is a cage 

and you were born an illusionist

trained to pick locks.

A midnight guest or a familiar intruder, 

it doesn’t matter,

you welcome regret to your threshold

all the same.

In the morning it will be gone,

and so will you. 

Kathleen Pastrana writes from her hometown in Bulacan, Philippines. She used to work as a speechwriter for corporate and academic events. Now she writes poetry in a house she shares with 40 rescued cats. Her poems have appeared in Banaag Diwa and elsewhere.