I say a lot of things

ut I certainly didn't mean that when I said it.

I would be absurd to have believed it.

There's no way.

No way.

No way I would have done it.

I couldn't.

I was enthralled.

Enchanted.

En…?

Whatever.

The point being,

I spoke out of

Embarrassment?

Shock?

Inarticulation?

Like a child being chastised,

Or the victim of a surprise party gone terribly wrong.

Was that it?

Or was it the circumstances?

About as convenient as giving birth in Death Valley,

A customer just past closing,

Or you.

The night before.

I always worried about the morning after

For obvious reasons.

I blush just thinking about it.

Was it my fault?

You spit out a flustered "no."

Now I have become the inconvenience.

An emotional gnat;

Buzzing.

Buzzing.

Buzzing.

David Thompson.

Rendered inarticulate.

Who would have thought?

No one would believe you if you told them.

Hell, I don't believe you. Or me.

I suppose inconsistency threw me off at first.

Stress.

Need.

Desire.

Confusion.

Am I writing a poetry or the next big hit for Blink 182?

Maybe I can relate.

Maybe not.

I like to think I'm not nearly as whiny.

Or drunk.

Back to the point:

I say a lot of things,

But I didn't mean that,

I couldn't.

But we both believed it.

And now it's good to use.

To say.

To believe.

It's convenient.