innocent! innocent!
by lena

when they drag me before the judge, wild-haired, torn-clothed, and raving,
I’ll tell them you made me do it.
that I was accomplice, guilty by association, your mad-hatter lover in name only.
pulled under by it, unable to help myself, caught as easily within your glittering web
as the butterfly in the spider’s, as the water creature to the jungle snake.
victim! I’ll cry. I was victim in this, am victim in this, blameworthy if love
is something to be blamed for, never knowing where it would lead me,
incapable of foresight, temporarily and utterly ‘round the bed, your bend.
my tear-sparkled face can only lead credence to my sad, sad story,
the claw-marks down my face, done by my own hand, one shoulder of the jail jumper
they give pushed to the side, baring traces of your lipstick.
surely they must see how mad I am!
will the jury look down on me with scorn? say that I, harlot,
scarlet-lettered by the branding, damning touch of your fingerprints on my skin,
am instead somehow culpable, liable for the damage we inflicted on each other’s jailbird hearts?
I will tell them of my best intentions, my only desire that of peace, love…
innocent! innocent! my battle-cry will ring through the courtrooms,
catching at every ear, and they must believe me, they simply must.
they can never know of my folly, that I went to you willingly,
needingly, moth-to-flame, burning in your gaze as only your gaze can burn me,
and maybe your eyes will stare accusingly from the shadows,
where you await your own trial-by-fire. oh, love is hell!
how could the fiery pits ever hope to match up?
they must never know how the circumstances drove us,
like unwilling passengers on a fury-ride, toward this end of all ends,
this shattering. they should never know that I would take it back in an instant.
so I cry innocent! innocent! acquit me in the name of that which I have done,
because I do not know what I do, even now! (or why!)
because it was not your fault, nor mine, that it had such an end.
oh, set me free from this heart-prison! let my punishment fit the crime,
that I walk this world alone. because I could never win you back.
could never jump that gulf of our mistakes Thelma-and-Louise style.
would you let me?
better this than that truth. I do not deserve you. better this
than my own susceptibility, or my (unending, penitent) love.