Dissociative
If scars are meant to be scrubbed out,
Then days are meant for dissociation.
And age is how long it’s been since you made it.
I can’t choke them off like words I could never
Jar out of myself.
The light broke off—
I can no longer stand to watch my hands
Tremble.
I knew you were a goddess the second you slipped
Off all your clothes
8 am, and how the time goes
On
And things are no longer
Dilated like plump veins,
And the black of your pupils;
I am no longer the same.
My favorite thing was smiling into your kiss;
Now I wonder why
I made it through for this.
If scars are meant to be hidden away,
You’d never have given me the time of day.
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