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.