Loss of Face

The hardest part is waking up in the morning and knowing that you're trying to forget last night, when it's all I want to remember. My heart cramps and hurts a little to know that you're calling up your girlfriend today as you brush your teeth, trying to get the taste of my skin out of your mouth.

It nearly cripples me as the sun spills through my window and bathes me in its warm embrace to know that I feel the same way when it's you with your arms wrapped around me. It's not just the lack of you being there that hurts me the most, it's the fact that it meant nothing to you while it meant the world to me.

I am your loss of face, you cannot accept who you are and the fact that you cannot - will not - come to terms with yourself. I can imagine you in the shower, scrubbing at your skin until it's a violent, angry red. I can imagine you ripping the sheets off your bed, getting rid every aroma of my skin. I can imagine you chewing all the gum you can find, getting rid of the bitter taste of deceit and remorse off of your tongue, even though you've brushed your teeth a half a dozen times.

What hurts the most, though, is that you can't even look at me. Whenever you touch me, I can see your eyes squint shut and your mouth twist in disgust as you let out sounds that you don't want to make. What hurts the most is that you have to get drunk before you can even accept what you are.

What hurts the most is that you can forget me the next morning, but I lie in agony knowing that you will never accept yourself. You will never accept me as anything more than a source of ridding yourself of the filthy feelings you swallow every day.

I am your loss of face, and while you forget, I will never stop remembering.