Pink, neatly sorted into a wooden block
The golden rimmed knives glint and gleam
I yearn and yearn to no longer be clean.

I realize- a little late
As the road continues
I only take the pathways
I can handle alone

There’s a gaping hole in my chest
Proof I’ve loved, a massacre on my boots
I brace a hand hoping it’ll be enough
Hoping I will be enough

It’s said that the human body replaces itself
With entirely new cells every seven years.

In seven years, I will be free from your touch.

In seven years your fingerprints will
No longer be burned into my skin.
In seven years I will be able to
Wash my body and finally feel clean.

In seven years I will be able to kiss
Without getting sick in a cold toilet,
Sobbing sobbing sobbing,
Because my tongue tastes of you.

In seven years, maybe I won’t
Lock my bedroom doors,
Fearing a monster that lives
Not under the bed.

In seven years, one more woman
Will pretend to feel free.

sometimes we don’t survive
we don’t live to tell our story
we don’t live to change our fate

i think you deserve a soft epilogue,
my love.
you are a good person
and  you've suffered enough.