i can see you twitching in your chair-
are those little white lies you've been feeding me
beginning to sting your conscience? you swell up
and, red eyed, fumble for apologies- honesty is,
apparently, something you're allergic to. you try
to blame our failure on everything from my past lovers
to my desire to get more from our sex than your orgasm...
then you tell me that no one did anything wrong.
loving to hear the sound of your own voice, you point
the finger of blame at everyone but you- and yet
one month, three failed relationships, and the common
denominator is you. that tells you nothing?

i think you've confused yourself in the maze of what
you think i thought you thought i said. you wonder why
i never tell you anything, and you stick your fingers
in your ears when i try to explain the situation.
i am more frustrated with you than makes sense-
you aren't hot enough to be worth the drama you create.

you almost make me want to start smoking
just so i can quit and feel like i've accomplished
something major and succeed where you've failed.

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