“I told you so”

Is never the right thing to say

And it will come back at you

With fierce indigestion

That burns and reeks and lingers

And gives you bad dreams

That wake you in tremors

The regret perched on your chest

An oversized inky crow

Beak pecking your face and neck

Watch your back

The urge to gloats sneaks behind

And infects you, seeing beneath

Your weak porous skin

A bubbling foul potio...