i asked you;
you lied.

i wondered,
"don't you trust me?"

i looked at you:
transparent, always a bad liar,

to the point where
it becomes enraging;

your lies mounting―
blatant, obvious

i looked at your sullen face,
felt myself grow bitter

i wondered,
"didn't our love once taste sweeter?"

i asked again;
you lied again.

i wondered,
"when did you regress?"

i wondered,
"when did we regress?"

it felt like
twelve steps forward, thirteen back.

maybe we're just meant to be
unlucky.