you watch me bathe in my own shameless self destruction, wilted guilt and tiresome apologies. 
“if only the blade you pierced me with would have been sharper” i say. “then i could be dead.” 
i choke out my mascara-run tears, and pout my lips. i tug on the hem of your dress and tell you how you ruined my life. 
you decide you don’t want children because of my endless temper tantrums. 

when in fact,
it was my brittle ego that fucked us up. my dramatic declarations.
my pity-seeking soliloquies that i preach to you. 

i wish i could take it all back.