Plane Engine

the plane engine is sputtering
in my chest
where the truth should be
but instead
the desert is in my bed
a sandy mess
of heat and regret.

my hand is on the dam's lever
trying to hold back
the floodwaters of guilt
but it's pulling me down
the sinkhole of what's been done.

I wish I'd never lied
to you when I was drunk that night
the words spilled out
like boiling water,
and now they're eating away
at what's left of us.

maybe lying was right
to save us from the crash
but it's hard to tell
when the wreckage is all I see.

will it matter much in the end?
if I'd spoken the truth
or if I'd kept quiet
and let the silence
drown us both?

the plane engine is still sputtering
but it's not going to take off
it's going to crash
and I'm still holding on
to the lever
trying to stop
the inevitable.