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Question

For whatever it's worth,

I'm alive and well in this place like h**l.

(Ducking - flashbacks of hot rifle shells.)

Dirt and peat more welcoming than the cold concrete.

Lend no ears to my love, pain, and more rarely fears.

Expectations of nothing seemingly glue down my feet;

Rendered my voice tired by repeating calls for a choice seat.

Regret is a nuisance; the type of which I fret the work of forgetting.

Over a lengthy time-span, drowning in my Regret's abyss; missing land.

On the back of my hand, there's not a map guiding me away from that.

Fasting without a choice...

still losing my voice... does it even matter?

Answer 1

Flash backs, Regrets.

Try to forget.

Look for the small things

Take back your voice

Its a choice.

Answer 2

I liked your poem's attitude at the beginning, very stoic. Your phrases were excellent; for example: "repeating calls for a choice seat", "drowning in my Regret's abyss; missing land", and "Fasting without a choice".

The disillusioned tone seems to be underscored with anger at the emotional "Regret" (I liked the choice of capitalizing).

Your poetry prevents you from "losing your voice", very nice work!