you left your soul in me.
it is like tainted blood
like a fungus growing along the banks
or the greed of a virus.
it long latched onto me
clinging to me like moss on a tree
growing and festering
and I wasn't aware till I became you
and yet
though I am myself
with my own soul and ideas and fingers
your disease of a memory
still sucks ravenously at my bleeding wounds.
so when I have the choice
to become myself
to step into a body clean and new
to start afresh and grow a garden
filled with lilacs and violets and forget-me-nots
I find I cannot forget you at all
and the residue of hurt
still lingers beneath my fingernails
and instead of stepping into me
I step shamefully back into you
throwing away his heart
just as you threw away mine.