Numbing

I was always shotgun 

when it came to us. 

Your hand on my lap, 

all my songs marred. 

You fell for me there, 

your fingers in my hair. 

I showed you the spot

you were starting to fray. 

I begged you to stop, 

you continued to press. 

I sat with you again

to say you were guilty

Of taking my heart

and trying to split it. 

I closed your door there, 

the one you once opened

To take me someplace 

where all pain was softened. 

Mar Fresno