Why

This was written, as one could possibly tell </sarcasm>, in the midst of a bad breakup.

Why are you like this demon that possesses me?
Why are you the words my pen
can’t /won’t
translate to the page?
Why are you the window that won’t close?

What did I give to you in exchange for this hold that
YOU have over
ME?

Catharsis would be nice, hell.
I’d take contentment.

I wish I could purge myself of you;
Like a toilet flushing.
A garbage disposal grinding.
An eraser subtracting pencil from a page.
An all-clear button on a calculator.

But you wrote yourself into the sands of my history.
You branded me with your guilt.
You embedded your lies in my skin:
a poisonous splinter of which I can’t be rid.