I think I've blurred

this past year,

written it into some dream

I had years ago

and only remember the outlines of.

Only recall the small details

that I wrote down

many times over,

but only wrote the story

that everyone else saw.

Because maybe if I could pass the time

with self-destruction playing in the

background

the story that I wrote down

many times over

would be the true one.

The self-destruction

would fade into another girl.

But having written the same story

with the same crimson ink

on the same scraps of tissue paper

many times over

I can blur the past but

I can't forget the blurriness.