I drive home with the radio on,
trying to forget your dead face.
I stand under my shower,
trying to forget your panicked father.
I pour milk on my cereal,
wondering why you tied the knots.
I watch TV on the couch,
trying to forget the marks on your neck.
I walk to the grocery store,
trying to forget the hopelessness I felt.
I wander through the aisles,
trying to forget the sound of your crying mother.
I workout for an hour,
trying not to be mad at you.
I stir my frozen dinner,
wishing you had told someone.
I drift into a restless sleep,
wishing we had made a difference.