You stood in my old photos,

yesterday. A disgusting

leech. Draining happiness

from the very veins of my wrists.

That safety pin. That small, silver

spear punished me for befriending

you. It scolded me with slits, pain

and blood. Everyday.

The keychain I made you was

once the string we strung love

and trust to. But you beaded

manipulation onto it, so I cut it.

Tears fell, thinking I would miss you.

But I found relief in a flimsy, white eraser

I pulled out of a cardboard box. It wiped

my tears and soaked my blood. Then I forgot you.