"He'll always have a place in your heart" they say
No.
"Someday you'll give someone your whole heart-except that piece"
No.
I don't want his name tattooed on my heart forever, impossible to erase
I don't want this section of my soul, this thriving garden
in the black hole that is my mind
Even though it's raining in that small slice off paradise,
rain makes the flowers grow
I don't want my tears to water the garden that he planted,
I want to burn it, burn it all
Sure, my last thread of hope will be consumed in the fire,
but at least his voice won't haunt my dreams
Maybe the memories and his voice
His words, his name
Maybe they will be reduced to ashes as well