Back then

I wept too frequently back then--
Hot, selfish tears that were
Born of self-pity in the back of my throat,
Constricting it,
And forced themselves upwards,
Upon my eyes.
Each one that fell was more
Useless than the last.
The guilt I felt for spilling them
Heaped higher and higher,
So each successive drop of moisture
Came quicker than the former.

It is a fortunate thing
To have left those times in the past.