You were there, you know. That night. That day. You were watching as they did those things to me. I saw you watching them end me like it was an episode from that crappy television show you are addicted on.

I lack the words.

I. Is there even an I anymore? Am I still a person? Or the remains of one? What was left of me - you picked me up and took me home and left me on your window sill in a brown cardboard box soggy from the rain. Ashes and memory.

A feeling of deja vu. That feeling, you know that feeling, the one that says you have forgotten someone. Me. You have forgotten me. I am in the bloodstained shirt you hid under your bed in the shoebox that still have the shoes you received at Christmas. That’s me, the dirt under your fingernails. My tears remain on your skin and my scent is there in that spot on your neck where your pulse beats.

I am the chill you feel in the shower when you attempt to scrub me off your body. I will forever be the hitch in your heart when you remember that night. That rainy night, the pavement I kissed and my blood. My blood. Your hands. Red.