That there ain't no one to blame
but me? The island in the sun,
burning desire for something more.
Say I say vile things and spin around,
again it's me. Dried up, turned out.
A figment of all that is wrong .
Call to me, yell at me, from the
other room, it is all I know of
how adults do. Pout and fluster,
at my questions and, yes, I will cry.
You never taking a moment for
an inquiry into why. Just scoff
That I'm a baby. It must be true
by now. I hold my breath for
that end, the final payout.
Sometimes your loaded gun
that sleeps tucked in between us
speaks to me at night, the third
party to our marriage lie.
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