you said you never wanted to become a number
in my mind
but you pride yourself in your own numbers
they made you who you are
they got you where you needed to go
away from, so far away
and now I strip myself of all you made me

I left my hair unwashed for a week
to push all the traces of you out of my being

Your voice is an echo I no longer strain to hear more clearly
Your touch is a forgotten carving into an artist's once praised work
Van Gogh and you, all too symmetrical

You speak to me in a language of upside down letters
I was formerly fluent
I no longer care to remember
the pain is wavering
the love was blinding