It's not that I want to think about it
It's that I can't not think about it
It's that sometimes I want to rip my skin from my body so that I can throw it in the washer on high
It's that sometimes I scrub at my own flesh until I'm certain that every microscopic possible piece of
you has washed down the drain.
I can't take enough deep breaths to exhale you out of my lungs
Your fingertips phantom crawl along my neck and spine
I don't want this used up body anymore
I don't want this coward's mind
I want to feel safe in my own skin
I want to believe that it's not my fault
that my brain hasn't betrayed me into believing that you stashed a voodoo doll of me somewhere
I want to stop thinking about how you are walking and talking and loving someone while I stare down
into a well so deep of hurt that when I drop in another body made of fear that it takes minutes before I
hear the splash.
I want to stop using mantras and crying at that one song
I want to stop throwing up my dinners
I want to stop soaking things in tears
I want to tear out my own heart and tell it to act right
I can't make myself forget you but I can make myself stop flashing highlights
I can turn off that projector
I can slide out from under the oily slick on the surface of my soul and search deeper
Search out into the open for the self I was before you.
I'll find her somewhere.
I'll carry her home with me.