Friday, September 23, 2011

Sometimes a confession is not

tackled atop snow
twisting my back

screaming

wrestling in the front yard

2 a.m.

trying to leave

the quiet street our only witness

the white powder our canvas

she had been drinking

when she took MDMA

she had been smoking pot

and singing off-key

her teeth striped

black

grimaces leave

lips unsweet

thrusting with insults

begging

weeping unkind tears

to fool me

later


finally free

after shoving her off my car's hood

now having to live

with memories

knowing only the silence and the snow

witnessed the ending

the shame

the guilt

the bruises I showed no one

the bruises I left behind

no words

can ever give this meaning or redemption

we sinned in that house and on the lawn

and I have left out almost all of it

or at least anything

that blames

me

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