She used to cut herself and cry about it
and now she still does
she takes of her clothes right in front of me
as the steam rises from my skin
throws me a towel and opens the door
I look like a god
and she is curled in a ball
drunk from the porch swing
and red wine

crawling into bed with her
I wonder why I stayed
The Counting Crows spring from the stereo
and breathing steadily
I look at her picture albums
a loving family and trips to the seaside
in Italy, in Rome
places I'd never go
I swear that I would cut myself
just to have the chance
to live the life she does; and still she cries
holds on to me like I am running away
like I am drifting off to sea
without her

but really, I am
as she crawls on top of me and kisses my neck
I crawl out from under
as I touch her thighs, scarred and discolored
she always wore a skirt
she always kissed my neck

so, I left her summer house
without many words
just thoughts and a red wine headache
if I stayed I would have only hurt her more, I am sure
and caused more pain
and made my own scar

to the car I drive, and the traffic on 78 has slowed to a halt
construction barrels line the highway
to the home I sleep
without a thought of her
until now
I wonder if she is gone
finally gone away to meet her maker
and erase her scars.