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.