Blame


He'd turn away when I came home with blood on my hands and a mask I despised thrown hastily in my bag. He'd pretend he didn't see.
I'd stumble over apologies, clumsy kisses and try to make it better with petty, useless promises I could never keep.

He'd hold himself close against me on those nights and whisper warm words against my neck; 'If you love me, why won't you leave them?'
I'd hesitate, close my eyes and answer with slow breathing. Sometimes it's just easier to pretend you're asleep.

I turned away when they cast the spell, closed my eyes and pretended I couldn't see.
He blamed me without saying a single word; But I felt it, stabbing through me like a dull blade.



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