i tell myself you weren’t that kind,
not really.
not the way i remember.
maybe i just needed you
to be more than you were.
i practice unlearning you,
every day.
but then
i look at you
and every lie i rehearsed
falls apart in my mouth.
you still ruin me,
just by existing.

i had my last ap exam today.
i did a good job,
not like you care.
and then afterward we went out to eat
i got fettuccine alfredo,
no shrimp though.

i did that band leadership interview too.
i didn’t see your name
on the list.
my interview went well,
doc gushed about my talent,
i liked that.

mom made me give up
all the knives
and pocket knives i’ve collected.
but what she doesn’t know
is that i still have the pencil sharpener.
i won’t use it though.

it’s already been a week
of these so-called happy pills,
i don’t feel any different.
i wish i would.
or i wish i felt
nothing at all.
either or.

i keep telling myself
it only hurts this much right now.
but i think
i’ll be getting over you
my whole life.
i’m tired.
are you?

a month ago
i thought of something
i wanted to tell you
while “the manuscript” played.

but it slipped away
before i could catch it.

today,
same song,
same road,
it came back.

i didn’t say it.
i just drove.

neat red lines
stacked in a column
on my upper thigh.
i remember how you
flinched
when you saw them.
it’s disgusting
but it’s me.