By Living, I'm Killing Myself

My past has just learned
to crawl under
my outermost layer
of skin.

I scratch. I want to turn inside out,
so I can pick out
the shouldn’t haves
the mistakes
the should haves
so I can leave
the few occasions
where I actually did
something right.
and be able to breathe
and sleep
without remembering.
I itch.

It’s a parasite
I have spent my whole life
trying to get rid of
But as each day trails on
it multiplies.
By living 
I am killing myself.

Maybe the regret within
will learn to stand on its own
and finally walk out
of my mind
like I’ve dreamed
an infinite amount of times.

For now,
my cells remain infected.
You have to die 
before you’re revived.