I have eleven years in my possession,
All of which I spent loving you,
And drowning in various fantastical obsessions.

I have eleven whispers of regret,
Eleven whispers of doubt,
Eleven whispers of "turn around."

I have eleven months in my possession,
Eleven months of good intentions.

I have eleven screaming words
Piercing my ear drums.
Tell me that you don't care,
You won't care.

I have eleven days in my possession,
Eleven days this will go without mention.

I have eleven needless thoughts,
Pushing and pushing until my eyes flood with tears.
You won't notice.

I have eleven itching scars on just my hands and arms in my possession,
Of all the times I needed someone,
But there was no one to hear my amnesia-esque confessions.