Your walls are untouched,

your bed unfamiliar.

In an untried city,

where unknown people parade past you.

Nothing is stained of me.

Yet, when my eyes abrade

my surroundings, I see you.

I see your ghost

opening the front door with my lipstick on, laughing in my car, cooking in my kitchen,

and it sure is a bitch, when

I see your cryptic ocean eyes

or the phantom of your full lips

asleep in my bed.

Your shadow smiles

at me through our friend’s faces, in karaoke bars, and all our familiar places;

when I sit at the beach

searching for peace,

I see you beside me.

Your body exposed, but

your eyes buried beneath sunglasses,

believing they mask your polluted thoughts,

I see you.

In the movies you showed me,

hear you in the music you stole from me,

And when I’m having sex,

I close my eyes,

blurred with tears

I can’t suppress, and I see

you.

You ran away, like I thought you’d do.

What I didn’t foresee was

this god-awful mess you’d leave just for me.

So here I am, assiduously cleaning outside and in,

hopelessly trying to shed myself of you.

I undress but you’re still on my skin.

This thing happens in my brain,

Where I mis-recollect memories;

dismiss the lousy truths offered to me,

and reminisce dishonestly.

I’ve done this since I was young,

When my dad would get angry and hit me when drunk.

He would wake up with flowers and artwork by his bed, from his 12-year old daughter with a black eye and blacked out memories in her head.

Begging him to love her.

I erase parts of history

I don’t want to believe,

and I simply breathe

in, all of the reasons why I loved you.

Or him.

Or anyone.

But let me confess,

that every day I see you less.

And once I have rid myself

of your entire mess,

I will never see you again.