A tattoo for every time he’s broken my heart, and now his skin is running out of room. 

From his neck to his fingertips… 

Black and blue designs telling the story of all his lies.

Patchwork on his skin like merit badges, following the pattern of kisses he spilled over me. 

Every intimate touch a prick of a needle.

Now we are connected; bonded souls tied tightly by sex and broken heart pieces we’d try to smash and fit. 

Coolly oozing out of my pores like a purging of my soul, he is ceasing to exist; no longer a phantom pain. 

I grieve the ink, the scars, the pleasure and pain.

I carried him close to me like a child wrapped in my arms- tenderly. No more. 

His tattoos may remain, but the one on my heart has faded like a dream upon awakening.