I walked twice around the block and still didn't want to be in the same room as you.

My wound is a crescent moon on my finger. A blood blister in my shoe. A case for isolation. A contagious heaving heart.

My energy hangs low and foggy. I externalise my guilt. My sorrow will not be eased by another pot of tea.

Your pedantic deflections. My refusal to compromise. Truth telling leaves us exposed when we're up to our wrists in lies.

My assault on innuendo. Your passive agressive turn of phrase. Chalk lines on the refridgerator remain after being erased.

Honesty finds me wanting. Cuts around us like a stanley knife. Reminisenct of a childhood spooning out the blame.

Notice this billboard flashing. Read the stop sign walking past. I am a reflection of your refraction. The martyr behind the mask.