guilt

in darkness, all alone abandoned even by myself lost in all the things which exist and don't all the things which will rear up and hurt or confuse or manipulate me or whatever else, in the deep of night which I fail and fail to imagine I only wonder, and avoid and don't know what bitterness, and agony, and betrayal, and further unknown and dread and failure, especially my own failures and lies, that I would have to face. at least, maybe I acknowledge I wanted to be something or someone leave some sort of mark, one that didn't have to be much, but that showed at least that I'd been there. yet I was afraid and stuck, to even face the brutal reality, and go further, or however, I didn't know, to do it, or stick through something, or see it, how to be fine with it, the unknown and disappointment, and fear and dread that I was.