behind the curtain i shed my first tear

a poem

i haven’t cleaned the candle wax yet, and the dirt has settled into the wood and so too have the wine stains, or wait, is that even wine?

i haven’t said sorry yet and i haven’t looked in the mirror for three days.

and i live alone and it’s been a while since we last spoke, but i still feel the eyes.

burning.

curious.

vengeful.

i thought you were more of a sinner than i, but the gates closed for me just about the same time they opened for you.

i need a bath. scalding. i seek penance (but i found it long ago). and it didn’t account for much, did it?