2 Days

Thirty four times,

I’ve been tortured,

Stockholm syndrome,

grateful Gitmo girl,

taping up my sanity,

until the twenty fifth,

when I say to myself,

“Surely, today.”

Appropriate amnesia,

I forget,

under the new moon,

the promises we made,

maybe they’re just things that people say,

when they’re infatuated.

Once upon a time,

you told me,

I’d never be alone again,

and I can’t say that you lied,

because I never let you go.

I never let you go,

I never let myself leave,

I never let myself believe that endings exist.