I do not remember
the things from this December
the way that you describe.
I don't trust the teller.
The story's a production
that you have designed.
That's not what it was like.
I was not that guy
who fucked it up,
it was your
built up expectations
for me.
How the hell could I live up?
A standard based in fiction,
a memory vindictive,
and wiring secure.
Although I am not guilty,
I can't help but feel that
somehow I'm at fault.
That's not what it was like.
I was not so clear
to where I stood,
I floated
on an easy time
of holding hands,
hoping they'd unclasp
without a second glance.