Washed My Hands of You

I promise you

I was fine.

I promise you

that I was

over it. 

  

           That

the cut had

scabbed over.

 

That I told

myself not

to pick at it &

let it heat. 

I promise you

it healed, when you

were gone it was

easier to say so,

but when you

wondered ack

in the fake skin,

the skin I thought

had healed fell off

like an overused 

bandage & showed

this hole

still embedded

inside of me.