Was I
ever wrong?
You're asking me?

I was
wrong nearly
start to finish.

Could I
make amends,
I wouldn't try.

I can't pretend
what I've
done is some

thing I can fix.

Don't erase
all the pain,
all the hurt -
you know it was me.

My failure
of feeling,
of motion,
and failure to see

You, as you, without
my perspective skewed,
without my intent
slipping from
benevolence
and into
malevolence.

Darling, the
dead night,
the lonely
bedsheets
fit my crime
fine, but
are not
punishment
enough.