it is the middle of the night and
mary is ashamed.
stupid.
she was so stupid.
and she hates that she had let him get close enough
to break her.
she thinks about the rough kisses,
his (poison) hands grabbing her,
her own twisting in his hair.
the passion
that she had believed meant something.
but he had been having his affair
and it meant nothing.
stupid.
and yet,
she still wasn't going to leave.
what did that make her?