It's just your guilt talking,
out of the sly corners of its mouth.
The dirty, shame filled face,
with its dark sad eyes.
It's just your guilt talking
my love,
lying through its crooked teeth,
bending and swaying like a rotten tree in a gale.
Its story never the same,
never with a hint of truth or of sense.
It's just your guilt talking,
worry rusting its bones
Regret.
Remorse.
Eye contact,
what is eye contact?
It has never existed
in the dark eyelessness of your guilt.
Fear, my love,
fear of repercussions,
of my assumed hatred,
of confrontation.
It's just your guilt talking,
trying to avoid the thought
of me,
of what we had,
and the way you threw it as far away as possible.
And now you will never be able to find it in the wildness,
and the wideness,
of your guilt.
Your guilt,
a field of crumbling stone,
of parasitic weeds.
With a black yet rainless sky.
Stealing your life,
your heart.
Sucking it down into the toxic earth,
of your guilt.