guessing game

I guess I’m done asking myself

the why’s around

why this grew up to be

a house of silence

screaming death rattles

shocked admonishments 

and the occasional 

spilled wine glass. 

If you don’t know by now

that’s part of the reason

why. 

All the things I think you think we think

are buried under the couch cushions

with the lost change and 

backs of earrings I told myself

“someday I’ll fish those out,”

“it’s not too late to start again,”

“I can’t undo what we–”

but what?

I would rather have you to hate than not. 

I would rather be the one with the noose in the corner,

next to the ferns and family photos. 

I wonder if I’m just staying until I can say

it’s all your fault,

walk away with Billy The Kid explosions

burning hot into the back of my freshly ironed shirts. 

I don’t leave because I’m not the bad guy. 

I can’t work on being good to you anymore. 

I won’t act like you’re okay. 

I guess I don’t know how to learn to live this lie. 

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