Oh,
why
did I
open my
mouth? I may have lost
my foot in there somewhere, and now
everyone's staring at me like I've grown a third hand
out the top of my head, forming
the shape of an "L"
for "Loser"
since I
spoke
last.
The
pause
is still
palpable.
The dropped discourse is
pregnant with misunderstanding,
its silence rife with disharmonious disconnect.
The awkwardness spills onto the
floor and leaves a stain;
I still don't
know what
to
say.
But
now
when I
try to take
back the transgression,
my efforts make it all the more
obvious, spreading the conversation far too thin.
I trip over my tongue, leaving
my words to fall short,
adding more
fuel to
the
fire.
