Regret

Damned if I do and damned if I don't,
A promise to eat; a promise I won't,
yet the cycle keeps on repeating itself,
each finger I force down, a sad mime for help.

Exhausted, fatigued, I compose and I stare
into the void that once housed my care,
I press on the bud at the back of my hand,
an growing reminder; a growing demand.

But as time passes this bud fails to flower,
as it resides hidden under a dark shaded bower.
For beneath is no sun and no water flows,
I sold my soul a long time ago