Sandpaper

Time doesn't heal all wounds, it just changes you enough so you can live with them, so you

Can feel his hand on your neck and stay still, feel his palm on your mouth and not bite

Feel him and stay soft, stay still, stay stuck with the love you were given

Since it is the only love you ever will be, the only truth you can truly rely on for longer than

Your wounds have to scab over before he wounds again, a subtle torture

The sandpapering of love until it wears you down like an eraser, until you...

You no longer remember what it felt like to bite him when he tried.

When the memory itself is almost erased

Your body left for the taking, his innocent tools leaving more wounds in his wake.

Whoever claimed time could heal you was lying, or maybe they saw failure to resist as

Acceptance, accepting you deserved whatever you were given, your edges worn down by time.

Maybe you could sleepwalk your way somewhere kinder, if his touch ever lifted enough to let you sleep.

If you could find yourself asleep somewhere other than in his embrace.