Leftovers of Regret

Opening the fridge at the dead of the night,

a smell curls around me, pulling tight.

Something's gone rancid, it's vile and it's wrong,

like whispers of neglect that linger too long.

Shriveled remains of a feast turned to dust,

a mirror reflecting what’s fallen from trust.

I shudder and close it, that dark place of shame,

reminders of failures I dare not to name.