Cynical Wordsmith

There are times
I doubt myself.
Was that the right decision?
Did I consider the consequence?
I feel remorse.
I feel regret.
But the decisions are made
And I can’t seem to falter.
To doubt my decisions
Would invite doubt
Into myself
And all that I’ve done.
A brooding darkness
That lingers and asks,
“What if, kind sir?
What if?”
I’ve entertained them,
Oh yes,
But always seem to find
That certain solemn end.
This is my existence,
This is my reality.
And my doubts always come
Ten seconds too late.

View original post