The shower doors won't close properly,
and neither will
my eyes.
The water's getting in
The soap's getting in
The fear's
setting
in.
"He wanted her."
Past tense, I tell myself,
Let It Go.
And I have to, cause the water's
running cold.

I'm grumpy, upset, annoyed at you,
I'm in a bad mood
again.
Angry? No, not angry. Never quite
angry. Never (quite.)
He loves me, he keeps telling me.
"He tells you all the time."

I don't know why
I Need this doubt.
But it makes me need to
Try.