My feet are still marked
With ghosts of mosquito bites
From that evening on the dock
They itched after I left
Gnawing reminders
I scratched, leaving scars
Six faded spots like old freckles
It wasn't that night
When you asked
But it was that night
When I knew
The next day you said it: Should I leave her?
I said yes, selfishly
But I never relished your gnawing sadness
I never wanted you to hurt
Silly me
I thought you might add two more words:
Should I leave her
For you?
Instead I'm the one with the scars.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
My feet are still marked
With ghosts of mosquito bites
From that evening on the dock
They itched after I left
Gnawing reminders
I scratched, leaving scars
Six faded spots like old freckles
It wasn't that night
When you asked
But it was that night
When I knew
The next day you said it: Should I leave her?
I said yes, selfishly
But I never relished your gnawing sadness
I never wanted you to hurt
Silly me
I thought you might add two more words:
Should I leave her
For you?
Instead I'm the one with the scars.
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