Permeate

Bleeding through the sills of rose-colored windows,
bringing up crass but necessary shadows.
Alive with the threat of dread,
you don’t want those part of you dead,
just mended.
After healing, you can see what is instead of what could have been.
Knowing is half the battle,
waiting for the dust to settle.
I wallow in the hindsight of
wishing/wanting/waiting,
but my life is mine for the taking.