she disinfects herself
of any scrap of me
with her antiseptic smile
fast across the countertop
of indignant
misunderstandings

I may have been
an anchor around her waist
but we both knew
she was the goddamned rope tethered between hope
and my third rib

so when she tells everyone
she didn’t feel a thing
it’s because
i am the fucking scar
down her inner wrist
and she was the dull blade

she will live forever
as a monument to beauty
while i am merely a footnote
scribbled in the accumulated dust
on her headboard
with shaking fingertips