Is guilt a self-inflicted punishment? Or a comfort?

Today, I felt the full sorrow of my guilt,
like a knife cutting into my heart.

Perhaps it was comforting to feel that way,
especially when it is best assuaged with a new bottle of Porto
and a cigarette or three.
I have learned to mistrust my feelings
because I have never learned to trust my perception of reality.

But, before I relax too deeply into my cups,
Yes, I do feel guilty.
Guilty for having lost my love for the woman who loved me.

When did I lose that love?
Some when years ago, when I was carelessly looking the other way.
Trying my novice hand at husbandry without first seeking out the fertile soil.
Failing to understand that the vines of my self-interest needed to be trained;
not allowed to become a choking mass of florid foliage, unfruitful in its season.

I feel failure, fear failure,
perhaps seeking that my woeful neglect
can somehow be expurgated by too late a slash of the pruning hook.
Seeking solace in self mental flagellation ..........

The vintner of this Porto would probably have understood.