It wasn't me, it was you.
I had the money.
Fifteen in one year. Yeah, just fifteen.
I didn't not mean it.
Not a miscarriage.
Didn't read it. Nope.
Not allergic, just hate the way you cook it.
No protection.
Throwing up daily.
It's you. It's always been you.
(The prompt was ten lies; but I decided the confessions would be more fun.)
