koremorleth
Novice
It had been long enough since the appearance of the last poem that some of the Unbounded who had met the avatar Regret begin to worry that something had happened to him. But early Wednesday morning, those worries are laid to rest. At least, at first. On one side, is scrawled a message:
I thought this was helping. I really did. I'm trying. But I need you to understand one thing: I see your regrets, yes. The things said and unsaid. Actions taken or not taken. But do you want to know why I have to tear out my eyes when it becomes too much? Because I feel them. I feel your emotions, the hatred you feel towards yourself. The grief, the loss, the anger. I relive your worst moments, over and over again. Those of you who were there, who saw what I did? The only way to dull the pain of your worst moments is the physical pain I cause by tearing out my eyes. I would rather rip my eyes out a hundred times over than feel that constant, unending, overwhelming regret.
I'm trying. But I don't know how much longer I can take this. How do you live with this kind of pain?
On the other side, as usual, two poems are written side by side. But the script is far from neat. The ink is smudged in places, the paper wrinkled from the tears that had fallen and dried there. A few drops of smeared, dried blood are splattered towards the bottom of the page, along with bloody fingerprints. It becomes clear to the Unbounded that not long after finishing these two poems, Regret had ripped out his eyes. And this is what he wrote:

This time, there is no name at the bottom.
I thought this was helping. I really did. I'm trying. But I need you to understand one thing: I see your regrets, yes. The things said and unsaid. Actions taken or not taken. But do you want to know why I have to tear out my eyes when it becomes too much? Because I feel them. I feel your emotions, the hatred you feel towards yourself. The grief, the loss, the anger. I relive your worst moments, over and over again. Those of you who were there, who saw what I did? The only way to dull the pain of your worst moments is the physical pain I cause by tearing out my eyes. I would rather rip my eyes out a hundred times over than feel that constant, unending, overwhelming regret.
I'm trying. But I don't know how much longer I can take this. How do you live with this kind of pain?
On the other side, as usual, two poems are written side by side. But the script is far from neat. The ink is smudged in places, the paper wrinkled from the tears that had fallen and dried there. A few drops of smeared, dried blood are splattered towards the bottom of the page, along with bloody fingerprints. It becomes clear to the Unbounded that not long after finishing these two poems, Regret had ripped out his eyes. And this is what he wrote:

This time, there is no name at the bottom.