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.