Boxing My Past and Packing it Away

I know that you've wipe me off like yesterday's shit stain on your white cotton panties the very day I left… But I got something to tell you, today is the day where I removed the last of our scab; the final piece of fitting where we used to talk on, sleep on, fornicate on; a place where we sow our memories, affection, secretion on; now it's but a place of dirt.

Over the year, our relationship was more like what Moses is to the Red Sea; every time I came near you, your legs seem to part. You know what, if telling lies was a key; I think we both have used this key one too many times to unlock almost every bodily pleasure we can fucking get from each other.

I've been boxing up everything and anything that smells like you. The things that reminded me of you are nicely wrapped in yesterday's news, sealed so tightly that not even a tiny whisper or a faint odor of our sins could ever escape.

This isn't what it looks like...

but yes I'm throwing it all away. I'm purging myself of you I am cleansing you from my very soul; I'm casting out the you in me, and hopefully before I fucking die, there's not a single trace of you slithering inside my fucking veins.

You are my fucking past and I'm...

But today I’ve learn that throwing away the mattress that we used to commit our sins upon ain’t enough to kill you. The cock stain on the underwear may be gone but the stench still remains; yes the crust-like surface may seem healed but beneath this scab the pain still fucking lingers.