Table for One: Tales of Guilt

I made eye contact with a passerby  
on the street the other day.  
He looked at me as if he knew.  
He so easily peered into  
the dark corners of my imperfect soul.  
Could he know?  
Should he know:  
he'd be made well aware of the impending doom I’d meet soon.  
The nature of my mistakes.
Pitiful lace sewn onto a face:
a failed attempt to mask  
my disgrace.
...
Does he know?  
 
My heartbeats at rhythms haste
as I try to forgot the lingering taste;
bittersweet nectar of terrible mistake.
Still hauntingly enough so to revisit.
...
I was driving the other day
when I made eye contact with a woman
in the car next to mine.
She looked at me as if she knew.  
She peered over at me in such a way
that I nearly felt the demons unleash
and breakthrough the bars
that held them at bay.  
Could she know?  
Should she know:
she'd be made well aware
of the web of error I've been
selfishly weaving.  
She would see the strings
envelope me, entirely.
I'm tangled
and torn-open at the seams.
I'm left dangling above a world
that surely knows;
left on display 
and despite my dismay 
I’ve fashioned this seat on my own
to match the noose I’d unknowingly sewn.
 
I saw you look at me the other day.  
You peered through me
in such a way
that I thought for certain you knew.  
I kept the cold sweat
in the palms of closed hands
as I fumbled on lies
and misplaced truths.
You looked at me as if you knew.  
Should you know:
you'd be made well aware of the cost
of shelf-living.  
It's a cold and dusty place;
not meant for loving or living.  
A frigid touch lead to temptation's blush
and a fire was burned in a dry summer’s rush.  
 
I lied.
And I lied.  
I thought for sure you knew.  
My fickle feet admit defeat
as I pour my misdeed’s due.  
Two glasses set a table,
but tonight I dine alone.