Written in Grey

It seems some days
As though I feel
A wind blow through the trees.
A cold embrace
Of loving lace
And unrequited seas.

A rage builds in,
And as I find
My core is bending 'round,
I turn and run
'Til wrath is done --
But still, by rage I'm found.

Recoiling then,
A fear, a breath,
And kisses all the while,
It bites me still,
My soul to kill,
Ungrateful lips will smile.

A life well lived,
And seasons bought
With tears, and blood, and sweat,
A vengeful ghost
Who craves the most --
Joy's thief is named Regret.