filled a book with your ink
and tried to erase it
but the words remained
like little stains upon my skin
reminders that i'd never get away
but one day i became aware
that i had been reading the last chapter
over and over again
as if the book could never end
as if i just denied the existence of the final words
but as i struggled to erase your name
it instead became smeared
an ugly reminder of what i was covering up
so i tore out your name from every page
and i burned those chapters
and with them, my shame
my hatred for myself
because i realized there are endless pages
still white and untouched
some, full of pencil sketches
that are easily removed
oh that i could fill those pages someday
with ink and flowers
to draw the joy that i imagine
to seek beauty
to be, to live, to love
write me a story i want to relive