overwritten

like how i mistake a scar for a bookmark to remind me
where we left off, a raised white line on my skin
with lips my fingers trip over every time i try to move on
no matter how many times it heals over
pry it open when i forget the colour of november
the warmth rushing to embrace my hands, like if you
hold water to thirst it will always thank you
even if today it is only blood, i think it cannot bleed this much
without you reminiscing too, even just a graze
then tomorrow, a wound i sing to sleep
refusing to close, not while there are still apologies
to be pulled out from my mouth
my tongue writhing to form another name
and i realise i have never cried before
and i no longer have a right to
so let me bring a knife to this…