i have never been more alone
than i was with him, in his room.

late afternoon, and he put
his hand on my breast
even though i pushed him away.

i was fifteen. turning sixteen.
i broke his heart, he said.
i would die without you. you are
the only light left in my life.

so now his world is dark
because i couldn't bear the weight
of that hand.

if he dies, it is my fault.
behind me i leave a trail of
broken hearts and empty beds,
cold eyes and hatred.

.

.

.

if he kills me, it will be my fault.

an. i don't know. weird mood. about two different people. sometimes i can't separate them in my head. i mean, i know the difference. obviously. but they were so much alike.