I can not remove your touch with blood.
Can't scratch, scrape, or cut it out.
No knife will ever do me justice.
It feeds on me
Gnawing.
Writhing.
Curled around my skeleton,
Consuming the gristle of my stamina
And breeding, perversely, in the marrow of my courage.
It was only a matter of time
Before one truth too many slipped out,
And you had to pass it on.
Like an airborne illness,
A disease of secrecy that contradicts itself
By not being discreet at all.
I remember your face, your eyes,
Your lips.
I remember your secrets and your stories
And I remember telling you mine.
For the first time, I thought I deserved trust.
I thought I was human.
