Conceivably at best

Perhaps I don’t perceive
how abysmal I smell
after sex
because I’m used to my own funk.
Perhaps I need to pretend
to show affection
when kindness is shown
although I cannot feign my fear of fraudulence.
Maybe I am a classic lunatic
Maybe I deserve nothing more than agony.
Maybe I am the only one to blame
Maybe fondness has no effect on me.
Perhaps I shouldn’t practice
mind games on you
After you leave
because letting go is the love I know.
Perhaps nothing can predict
how empty I will feel
in a dimly lit room
Since I’m startled by the light.
Maybe I’m a textbook malefactor
Maybe I solicit misery for fun.
Maybe I’m a slave to my own terrors
Maybe I should have warned you to run.



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