I thought you’d be easy to forget,
but I still haven’t accomplished it yet.
See, the cigarette smoke didn’t flush you from my lungs,
like I hoped it would
because it seemed you were a part of every breath I took.
You had consumed every part of me,
and the alcohol didn’t wipe your name from my memory.
I wanted so desperately to forget; I still do
because the days are becoming harder to get through.
I wanted the burn of the alcohol that settled in my throat,
to form a protective coat
so that anytime I said your name,
all I remembered was that you were to blame.
I want your name to only remind me of the bad memories
because I’m slowly losing what’s left of me.
I wanted something so different for us,
but I didn’t account on you breaking my trust.
So now I’m desperately trying to forget,
the good, the bad, the moments I did nothing but fret;
about you, me, us
and what was supposed to be unbreakable trust.
For now I’ll keep looking for something that’ll work,
something that will temporarily numb the hurt.