Feign

I pulled the paper from my coat today,

a scrap of thermal ink gone dull and grey.

The words you wrote were blunt and very plain,

but I looked back and talked about the rain.

My thumb worked circles on the fading line

until the pulp was soft and thin as wine.

I told you I was lost, a little blurred,

pretending that I hadn't heard a word.

It’s easier to play the fool, I guess,

than look at all the things I should confess.

The paper pills and tears beneath the strain.

I understood. I just preferred the pain.