I realized yesterday, why
  This
Is tearing me apart.


It's not the pain,
                            [or loss]
[or memories]
                        [nor loneliness]
    [not even the silence]


I think it's that feeling,
That's been hiding in my head,
Like a dormant disease;    
                                      [waiting to spread]
A virus named Guilt.


I'm at a loss, still
Not completely sure of myself,
My self-diagnosis,
Still full of holes,
                           [like our conversation]


Not that I'm sure I did anything wrong
                           [though I'm not sure I didn't]
This is more the guilt of those unsung tragedies.
  The stories you [n]ever hear.
      The ones with[out] the happy ending.
          The ones where the hero can [not] save the damsel.
      The [un]triumphant hero's guilt.
  The [in]competent doctor's guilt.
The [un]successful paladin's guilt.

The Guilt that starts off
As a common cold,
A tickle in the back of your mind's throat.
It's symptoms barely noticeable.
                                        [are you even sick?]
Until it grows and spreads,
             shifts and sheds,
Mutating
Into your own
                        personal
                                        cancer.
Always getting worse,
Every second.
Infecting your mind,
With a perfect poison.
Turning your conscience against you,
Until Remorse is running from your eyes,
          Self-reproach, streaming from your nose,
          Shame, dripped through an IV into your veins.
          And your heart is screaming out "Redemption!"



Now, please.
Cure me.
Be MY doctor.
Forgive me.