The Words That Stuck

The argument with her, it left a taste

like copper in my mouth, a bitter sting.

I’d spoken quick, with hurried, foolish haste,

and knew, this time, I’d broken some small thing.

Then childhood flashed, the friend, the broken toy,

my clumsy hand, the plastic split in two.

The way my throat closed, robbing me of joy,

the struggle then, to say, "I'm sorry, true."

It wasn't just the words, a rote refrain,

but something deeper, pushing from inside.

A rising sickness, mixed with sudden pain,

the truth of guilt, nowhere left to hide.

The bile then, a tremor in my voice.

To mean it, truly, leaves you with no choice.