Broken Record

Letting go
of you,
of our memories,
of our love,
feels like extracting nails from my soul.

Because all you ever did towards the end
was hang me up to wait for you,
while I fought against each piercing nail
you stuck into me.

And I let you,
because loving you was a lot like
playing a broken record over and over
but I kept it because it was my favorite.
I couldn't bear to throw it away
scared the memories would go with it.

But eventually,
something becomes broken beyond repair.
So I yanked each nail from my body,
from my heart,
from my soul,
that you had so perfectly placed,
bleeding me out so you could selfishly forever have my heart.

But I've realized
I'll find a new record,
one with no cracks,
one that won't skip.
One that will give me new memories.

So I'm walking away,
the record and nails in the trash,
my heart still intact.