I have no backbone because I've been bent out of shape. I compromise my morals so I can tolerate the skin I'm in. What I want is to cut it off. I want to expose the tissue, muscle, and bone underneath. The wind is harsher when you've got no skin. No protection. I don't need my skin to be thicker. I just needed to be new. If the scars disappear I'll forget how I got them.

How
*******
pathetic.

the
way
your name tastes
like acid on my tongue.

so I carve
the letters
in to my skin
hoping
so
irrationally
to dissolve it all away

until I am nothing
but
bones
concealing
the
heart that I will
never need again.

You think I'm still here
Funny that,
I left just after you left, remember?
I didn't return when you did.

You just walked back in, remember?
her rust still on your tongue,
covered in shards of your broken heart.

Pitiful.

Wanting me to pick up your pieces.
Me, the one you dropped and shattered
Me, bearer of children, believer of lies.

Shamed.

While her memory cut you deep
it was me that healed your wounds
with the warm, self loathing comfort
of doing it for the kids.

Used.

You apologised, profusely, wrapped in crocodile tears 
yet the guilt was all mine.

Apparently.

You think I'm still here
Funny that...

Betrayal is the closest friend
and the most eager lover.

Betrayal is the whetted apathy towards the willow tree
that lay in the rubble of old letters and scents.

Betrayal feels nothing
but joy in itself, blinded by its ignorance.

Betrayal is the abrasive hug
and the facile drawings of a thundered smile.

Betrayal feeds the poppies
and waters the corpse.

Betrayal is the closest friend
and the most eager lover.