Junk

My guilt lays claim to this junk.
It hoards it, slashing at my heart
Possessively guarding its golden gild.

My guilt nests somewhere
Between regret and sorrow
Roosting in my self-esteem and competence.

It twitters constantly
A cacophony of accusations
Drowning out reason.

It sings of projects undone
And lost time.
Of things sitting unused and unloved.

It nags me for clinging to frozen memories
And screams in horror
When I reach for my ice pick.

It consoles me with platitudes
That I don’t need to hear
Salting my wounds with its tears.

It hops on an empty hour-glass
Reminding me that time was up long ago
And no amount of stroking will mitigate the damage.

I can ignore the debris.
Balm my heart with my love
While my guilt gains ground.

I can battle the hoard
Offering pieces of my heart
In exchange for petty trinkets.

Is my heart of less value than the siege upon my life?
Is my guilt more deserving of my attention?
Is there a way out?

My guilt reminds me that sacrifices must be made,
Atonement is not without cost.
Who shall pay that price?

Daily Prompt: Clean House

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