As I write the words that your mouth will form
I wonder about the lies I’ve told.
Endless peccadilloes, great and small.
Tripped from my heart to your soul.
I try to find comfort in knowing you were aware
but as my hand forms the words
the tears begin to swell and I feel shame for
leading you astray.
I wonder if I can dare place the blame
on someone other than myself.
You knew of the lies and yet you chose to believe.
Doesn’t that speak to a greater sin?
But, as my pen runs out of ink and the page holds all that
I was never able to give I’m painfully aware that
the only sinner here is me.
Posted on 05/07 at 10:49 PM in Writing •
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Plagiarism makes babies cry.