I can't help picking at the scabs again. I know that it will just make my wounds worse and infected, but that ripping pain that comes from the separation of old and new flesh seems to calm. You pushed and pushed, so I left. And the scars that my scabs will leave already resemble your face. Its funny that I am fading and you remain, as you always do. Am I really the shadow that I see myself as? Not really a pretty girl anymore, just a void. I never wanted to be here, hating and missing and loving all in the same breath. Memories, like hands, grasping at the nape of my neck, the soft insides of my thighs, the ends of my hair will not give me one seconds peace. Why are you stealing from me? My innocence, grace and self esteem will never return to me, for they now have a new owner. Do you keep them like your favorite flannel shirt, once cherished, but now in abox under the bed? So thats what I am. A Keepsake, a memento of better times gone by. Well, do us both a favor. Throw me away. I am not even worth the box you keep me in anymore.
Reason for writing:
Fading memories are like scabs, even though you shouldn't, you just want to pick at them until they bleed...
Birth sign: Not entered
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