Here. Here I go. One day at a time. 

And I know if I keep my head above the water

then I'll have a chance at swimming back to shore.

Torn. Torn in two. Twist the knife. Strip the screw.

I'll be fine. I'll heal in time. Convincing myself that, 

"It's not a part of me. It's not important anymore.

It's just a memory and I have long since shut that door."

Mine. Mine for keeps. I still feel sick and it's been seven weeks.

I miss your face. I miss the glow.

What's the point in leaving to begin with 

when you never let it go. "It's far away from me.

A distance larger than the pain",

I try to tell myself, but the more I try to

scrub away the stain the more I want to be there. 

Yet something whispers,"Look where you've gotten on your own

thus far, alone and in the dark".

Nobody knows your name. Everything looks the same.

At least I can share my pain.