Here. Here I go. One day at a time.
  And I know if I keep my head above the water
  then I'll have a chance at swimming back to shore.
  Torn. Torn in two. Twist the knife. Strip the screw.
  I'll be fine. I'll heal in time. Convincing myself that,
  "It's not a part of me. It's not important anymore.
  It's just a memory and I have long since shut that door."
  Mine. Mine for keeps. I still feel sick and it's been seven weeks.
  I miss your face. I miss the glow.
  What's the point in leaving to begin with
  when you never let it go. "It's far away from me.
  A distance larger than the pain",
  I try to tell myself, but the more I try to
  scrub away the stain the more I want to be there.
  Yet something whispers,"Look where you've gotten on your own
  thus far, alone and in the dark".
  Nobody knows your name. Everything looks the same.
  At least I can share my pain.