I Refuse To Remember

Things now remembered come to life
burning brightly in the awful light,
becoming slowly sharper than a knife.

Carving out these feelings from within,
editting my past and pulling pins,
I lay there cold and soaking from the sin.

I'm calling out in quiet sighs.
I tell myself in whispered lies
that I don't want her there;
I can't still smell her hair,
or notice what she wears;
that breathing I can bear.

These things, remembered, come to life
burning brightly in the scalding light,
focused on as sharply as a knife.