I crossed you out
over
yesterday's bookmarks
containing endless tragedies.
This
month brings a tide
of remembering
and I hate it
because it
is exhausting to live with memories.
Trapped behind a showcase
of books
that contain words in which
you're scared to lose
yourself
(or find yourself)
You ran your tracks all over
me
like a derailed train
and I, a lost engine
stayed put in
the middle of nowhere.
In my silent reverie
I almost forgot
you belonged to another world
a place unkempt with secrets I
couldn't possibly fathom.
Feeling numb
is like being
another entity all together.
The past
splintered my heart
and parceled it off to the moon
to live in exile.