Last night I dreamed of her.
I lay with my head on her chest,
Embracing forgiveness.
It can never happen,
You have seen to that,
By fabricating a vile and predatory version of me
and feeding it to her, piece by piece,
Coated in your own remorse,
until she was sick.
I don't hate you for it.
Talented salesman,
You did what you had to
To save yourself.
I wish you would serve me the same special meal,
So I could blame me, too,
And hate myself, instead of you.