her anger never invoked rage in me,

never was i so blinded by red when she screamed,

her anger brought back home guilt,

tremendously suffocating guilt.

she demanded a reply to my actions

and i would choke on my words.

desperately looking for anything to say

to please, to soothe.

her look was the most sickening part.

her look ripped what little was left of me.

perhaps, if i could take my hands off my neck

to relieve the pressure,

maybe i could wrap my weary hands

around my lover's deprived body.

the comfort of a broken piece accepting itself,

will i ever witness such a thing?

will i ever be able to forgive myself?