Memories

I mended that scar with your butterflies

and you had no idea mine looked the same...

my marks were just invisible, inside;

kneeled at your feet, you never once saw me.

Oh yes, I know, I'm dead to you, I'm dead!

You disregard me, you discarded me.

How wrong I was to hold you so sacred--

I don't know how to trust reality.

So this is what those remedies are for,

for setting free the demons haunting me:

forever unread elegies; encore;

My honest love ignored so vauntingly.

I've nothing but these bitter melodies

to slow the hands that strip and pluck in pleas.