scar

I should have known you'd leave a scar.

I cling to my pathetic excuse of naivety;

I thought somehow I'd leave you easily.

Like artwork made of glass,

One drop should leave you shattered.

Of course, you always were more stubborn than that.

Why should your memory be any different?

But I needed you gone, obliterated, out of my head.

Desperate to remove any sense of familiarity,

I mindlessly scattered the broken pieces with my bare hands.

Blood red pools of fear and doubt surround me now,

And the gruesome gash in my hand

mirrors the gaping hole in my heart.

I feel only numbness where there should be pain.

But people don't like to see your insides,

So they stitch me up with little white lies,

Like, "it'll all be fine;" "things will get better;"

"The pain you feel won't last forever."

But time won't heal, I know the truth.

Someday there'll be no stitches,

And though all tenderness has left the wound,

The scar I wear across my hand will always point me back to you.

So way to go, you've left your mark,

Upon my heart and body too.

I should have known the day we met:

I'll never know life before you.