He told me it was undo-able: written in pencil. But it was permanent: He used marker.
And now I'm crying on the bathroom floor. Holding on to this pink eraser till my hands turn red. Trying to scrub the rest of him off my skin. Because he promised when he left he'd take everything with him. But he didn't take my pain and the constant reminder that memories don't fade like ink.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"I know that sometimes for people, I feel like too much; But let me kiss away the phantom pain that the scars remind you of, Let me kiss the burns on your hands, From when you touched the burning fire within my soul. Let me show you that yes, I am...
