Zero Regrets
By S.N.V
I spit my truth like blood on white sheets—
staining the silence with what no one dares say.
No sugar, no silk, no soft landings.
Just bone-knuckled honesty,
teeth cracked on syllables too sharp to swallow.
Read Also: “There’s Never A Right Time To Say Goodbye” by Bituin Esclamando
I don’t coat venom in velvet,
don’t call a wound a lesson when it still bleeds.
I name the rot.
I count the corpses.
I scream the names of ghosts who died
choking on their unsaid truths.
Regret?
That’s a chain I melted years ago
in the furnace of every “too much”
hurled at my throat like a curse.
So I learned to bite back—
not with apologies,
but with poetry laced in arsenic.
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I don’t whisper when I mean war.
I don’t lie when the mirror demands blood.
And if my words blister—good.
Some truths should leave scars.
Some sentences should sting
like wasps in the mouth of the meek.
So let them call it rage.
Let them call it madness.
I’ll call it liberation—
truth, raw and undressed,
teeth bared,
tongue on fire,
and not a single fucking regret.
Manners and Courtesy by Mohammed Naziru Iddrisu
