I can’t pinpoint the moment it dawned on me
that I was the one to blame.
The one who could never take back
the words she had said,
or the actions she had taken.
It was all on me,
and now it was too late for simple fixes.
This was not something that could be
swept under a rug or
bandaged with a simple band-aid.
No kiss-and-make-up problem.
No, this was my fault, and
by doing what I’d done,
whether by accident or by some
subconscious desire to hurt,
the blame fell on me.
Freud would say that there is no
such thing as an accident…
So it had to be on me.
And the fear, the nauseating-pit-of-the-stomach
ball of shame’s flames were burning me
Hot, yet cold as death’s grip.
I had to fix this.
Over at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, today’s prompt is Prompt 55 – A Slowly Dawning Horror. I am one of those people who absolutely detest making any kind of mistake and who suffer terribly whenever a mistake (real or perceived) has been made. I therefore made the decision not to pinpoint exactly which mistake had been made in this poem. My muse (the sadistic bitch ;)) thought that this covered just about all and any opportunity I’ve ever had to feel sick after making a mistake.