In the jar of hindsight,
I am blinded by the laboratory light
of truth, shining on me.
I lean my head against the thick glass
straining my eyes by seeking meaning from our past.
Regret chases blame around the round glass:
I question why I never took into account what was clear
Why I never had any regard for my own doubts or fear.
Why I naively raised my hand to volunteer.
So happily I played my experimental role.
I wandered through a foreign place —-
drawn by the chemistry of a scientist’s soul.
I loved the attention you gave
to your untested display.
With hope, I was happy to dream of results.
With hope, I was willing to stagnate in the wait.
So happy to suffocate
smothered by your scientific reasoning.
The steps became daunting.
I weakened from the constant testing
and the experiment fell apart.
All my doubts and suspicions were confirmed the day
you put me in a jar
and stored your broken specimen away.
Already forgotten, I burned in depressive withdrawal.
Angered at the sacrifice I made in the name of science.
I bargained with denial to escape that depressed, used feeling.
Cursing the cheated words I hid,
Loathing everything I ever did,
soon acceptance sealed the lid.
Now I sit on apathy’s shelf,
contained in the laboratory of myself
regretting what I have done
hating what I have become—
A broken experiment
trapped in a jar of glassed emotion.
