What we tell each other, when we don’t want to listen to each other.

I tell you;
This shame has ripped me off my clothes,
So as to bring disgrace to my ugly nakedness.
I blame my lewd neighborhood.

You tell me;
Blame the estranged lover.

I tell you;
This shame has befriended my hindsight now,
So that together they can wound my heels;
I blame this alien island.

You tell me;
Blame the estranged lover.

I tell you;
Shame flirts with the noises in my head,
So that boisterous sirens can immobilize my judicious rationale.
I blame my shallow resolute.

You tell me;
Blame the estranged lover.

I tell you;
Shame now lusts the humiliation in my heart,
So that together they can imprison my carefree mirth.
I blame my slanderous reminiscence.

You tell me;
Blame the estranged lover.

I tell you;
Shame now marries my wretched woes,
So that they can impregnate seeds of dishonor.
I blame my untamed needs.

You tell me;
Blame the estranged lover.


**

I tell you;
You are an idiot.

I tell you;
Blame the shame,
That allures such thoughtless rage;
Blame the rage,
That impels such smoldering angst.
Blame my ludicrous angst,
That searches for life in the dead corpses.
Blame my wobbly grit,
That hallucinates phantasm.

I beg you;
Spare my estranged lover.

Let me tell you;
I blame myself.

Listen to me, when I tell to you,
You are an idiot.
You are only the defensive devil in me.