Racked. (And back, sort of.)

Often, every little thing makes up a guilt trip. The unintentional seems to border on intentional, with or without meaning to. It picks at me, pokes me on the ribs, the head, rather, over and over until my motives mix with the unidentifiable. As if the guilt while at it isn’t enough, a bitter aftertaste of the feeling remains to trouble me further. What’s more often, is that it takes a while, a long while, to get over it.

Advertisements

What are your thoughts on this?

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s