"Our song came on the radio yesterday and for the first time, I didn't roll down my windows or turn it all the way up or sing along. I forced myself to turn it off."
"I washed your sweatshirt after sleeping in it for so many nights so it wouldn't smell like you anymore and I boxed it up to put in the top of my closet, out of sight."
"Remember when we went to the beach and kept snapping photos? I finally burned them yesterday. I watched as the flames burned out, just like we did."
"Our anniversary passed, and I didn't feel empty like I did the month before. It only took me four months."
"I'm deleting your contact out of my phone so I won't feel tempted to text you when I lie awake at night thinking about what we used to be. I guess I'll be doing you a favor, seeing as you don't care about the past us like I do."
"I hope you're happy with her, because after all this time I'm finally happier without you."

Day 1: I want to tear my skin off. My heart is beating so fast i can barley breathe. I feel so filthy.
Day 2: I can't believe this. I don't want to be here. Why did this happen? Why did I let this happen?
Day 5: I guess I drank too much and my friends were to drunk to stop me.
Day 10: I can't face my friends, I can't live my life.
Week 3: No one knows. He hasn't said a word.
Week 6: It happened again, I was sleeping and he did it again. Why did I stay the night? Why didn't I go straight home?
Week 7: He left and kissed me goodbye. I don't know how to feel.
Week 10: My life's out of control, I can't believe whats happening.
Month 5: My boyfriend knows. But not all details. Just thinking about it, makes me want to take a shower.
Month 8: I finally came clean to my friends. They're appalled. They hate him now. I still feel filthy. I can't get his smell off my body still.
Month 11: The anniversary is soon. What am I going to do?
Year 1: I haven't spoken to him in months. I haven't thought about it in days. I still feel as if hes on top of me, why can't I wash him away?

Its an uphill battle with myself and others. Some days I can't get out of bed or even feel like breathing.
But I try not to let him get to me. Because if he sees my weakness from what hes done,
He's won.

What have I become or
Maybe what have I always been
That seems to be the thought
That encircles the depression
That shoves my face
To the hidden mirror
And holds my cheeks
Turned down and
Keeps my eyes focused
On the ***** stained shirt
And the torn jeans
That seem to fit the distorted
Image that surely isn't me.
There is no answer for
The ones from whom
I have turned away
And there is no seeking
For the answer in the horizon
And there is no sound
From the helpers who
Speak only as they are
Pulling your ears to
Their black hole of needs.