I’ll tell you what I was doing
Friday night, and the day before
and every other day of the week.

I was memorising the back of
my eyelids, trying to fall asleep
after being awake for far too
fucking long.

But there you were, like someone
had taken blistering hot coals and
branded my skin with your name.

That would’ve hurt less maybe.

The burning would’ve gone
eventually. But no luck with you.

You’re a permanent tattoo on
my brains, refusing to fade away.

Tell me a cure, tell me anything.
After all, you gave the scar
but you gave away no remedy.