Guilt killed me
since yesterday.
My body managed
to crawl
with the last life
of a headless chicken
into today
to tell her
I don’t deserve it.

Depleted, dehydrated,
all deserved;
eyes dilated, conscience concentrated;
clothe in old scarf.

I looked at her
the one I call my woman
afraid of the scar
the words I utter
would plaster
on her heart’s layer.

She hugged me
as if she knew
I was in great pain.

Although her bosom
commanded great solace
guilt strangled the last life
out of me.