i stare at where the cut was
the wound is closed - it patched messily over all the emotions that came flooding and gushing out where you gutted me
it's left a scab once it stopped bleeding. a clump of red and brown i can't ignore whenever i look in your direction. a grossly explicit sign of the pain i had that splatters all over my vision
it's healing, but i can't stand the sight of it. i want it to be over. i can't wait for the skin to heal underneath.
i can't help it. i'm stuck here waiting forever.
so i pick at it. i play the songs i know will make me cry just to feel something. i miss the stinging emotions, the mess that was me once i had you.
i undo all the scabbing just like that, uncovering the fleshy mess i was supposed to bury.
and i'm back in the night it all fell apart, the naive believer who thought it would all fall back into place again. and i'm distraught again, the dreamer sifting through my memories for a sign that's never appearing. i don't find anything new, only rehash the familiar pains i was expecting all along.
the wound is open and bleeding, and really i knew this would happen the moment i picked at it. i don't want to forget you at all. i want to give you my battered heart again and again, watch you drop it and let it bleed. i want to hear you say sorry even though it won't do anything anymore. i want to fall in love with you all over again and then let the skies come crashing down when it's over again.
the scab never healed anything, and the wound is raw.
YOU ARE READING
gold-tinted glasses
Poetrythe sky spills open and the flowers gleam gold, and looking up at the sunlight i see it all written clear as day in the trees a diary romanticising coming of age, relationships, heartbreak and love again
