Finding a reason to live can lead down a road pock marked with potholes and full of u turns that lead you right back where you began.

When the ride got bumpy I tried to kiss the guilt out of your conscience. Love the lies out of you, filling the empty spaces with pieces of myself.

I held you so tightly you could no longer fall unless you took me with you. I would have gone gladly, and did because you let go. Then pushed.

I begged to burn the truth into your eyes with promise as bright as a blow torch… but hope bled out at each slice of your razor, each flick of your bic.

the care and maintenance of keloid scars of the soul proved to be much more trying than any salve could heal, and I have failed you.