Faults
Last night
you told me you loved me,
and my
mouth went dry,
vomit
rising in my throat.
It's that same old story all over again.
I didn't
know what to say at all,
so what I
didn't say amounted to far too much.
And for
what it's worth,
I'm
sorry.
We decided
to sleep on it,
though I
didn't actually go to bed
until well
after midnight.
It felt as
if I wasn't breathing.
Those words, those words…
It's
really not your fault, you know.
It's
just me,
afraid
that my romance novel tragedy of a past
might
swallow me for good this time.