It is the shaker and breaker of worlds,
the painful maker of new rules.
It is the clouds that paint your irises
as you dream of past mistakes.
It is the memory that takes
all the breathes you tried to save.
It is an ocean of saltwater tears,
that paints the picture clear
of what you could have,
should have,
and all the other haves
that cut you in halve
and then again
repeating until
you cannot mend,
and you must accept
said sad punishment.
Sometimes it is fair,
sometime opposite
and crueler than
suffocation.
Other times it is a gift,
the great shift
of being complicit
forcing your eyes open
and making you change it,
so you can be better.