Stain in the Words

I stumbled, lied to hide the crack,

words spilled dark, I couldn’t take back.

Coffee tipped—black ink running wild,

a stain on papers, shame’s own child.

Excuses tangled in tangled breath,

heavy and sour like bitter death.

I traced the spill with shaking hands,

a map of failure no one understands.

The weight sinks deep, ink never dries,

a mark that lives in tired eyes.