slipping into the familiar.

and there is no excuse to be made for why

we lie in the beds we make

and turn and toss in those sheets

heads and hearts a mess with

some strange tenderness

fold and unfold yourself into

this

continually asking yourself

the same questions

scars.

you are scarred

and i am a plaster

that hopes to cover you

even though the scar had healed over

like any other scar would do

i cover still the space

the wound that was

once split and sore

how long will i be so useless?