The earring of another woman lying on the bedside table
so casually,
so recklessly,
so offensively.
The scent of another and another in the dirty sheets.
The blond hairs in among the black.
Her voice breaks, momentarily,
but she goes on, and I play along
pretending not to notice.
I am a terror.
2 comments:
We are our choices.
Which is why I'm bad.
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