Splish, splash, splish, splash.

Rain falls, like a soft cleanser, to wash away what's left of acid tears.

The hot, angry, salty lava drips from my eyes, leaving it's mark on the frozen skin of my cheeks. My dress, once clean and white, is stained with grass and mud, black with the fear of my indecision. The soft, cold, wet fabric clings to my form, revealing every imperfection I've ever tried to hide.

Was it the scars that made you leave? The fading, white-purple slashes on my body, lingering reminders of my addiction, an ominous warning of my insecurity?


If I build up the scar tissue, will I forget that you exsisted? Can I hide you away in the fortress of my mind, where your image will slowly fade and your view of the world, bright and delightful, will blacken and crumble to dust?

Memories of you haunt me like a ghost, a child that's forgotten and crying. It hurts me to see what you've become--bitter, angry, and hateful.


I miss you.