It’s Called Purging

It’s Called Purging

Every thought of you must be
Shoved aside, thrown into
The darkest recesses of my mind.
There is no time for it to be
Done with delicacy. It must
All be discarded the second it appears.
I shall not think of you.

For every time I reach out
To touch you, there will be pain.
To think of curling my fingers around yours
Is heresy. To have my skin actually brush yours
Will be a cardinal sin. For every time I try
There will be punishment meted out.
I will not miss your warmth.

Every time I wish to cry for you, for me
For us, my tears will remain unshed.
For every single tear that slips through
The cracks of my lashes, ten scarlet
Ones will be shed in return.
I must not think of you.

Hell is not alone. Nor is hell other people.
Hell is as simple as not thinking of you.
I cannot miss you.