don't ask me what's wrong;
i couldn't tell you.
for months i've been wandering around...
picking up the shards of broken glass
til my fingers are lined with tiny, red cuts.
but it doesn't hurt.not nearly as much it used to...
i'm almost finished cleaning now
but some of the stains are harder to remove...
like the one of you kissing me at the stoplight
and the one where you told me you loved me is the stickiest;
it's taking a while to scrub that one away.
but i have no doubt that one day this place'll be spotless.
no more memories,
no more lies.
just me in my favorite chair,