Enough Is Enough

Memories haunt me at night,

spilling over into waking hours.

A glass too full,

yet so empty.

Curled up in the fetal position,

hoping to avoid your bullets.

Or maybe I'm Captain America,

hugging a grenade so that no one else has to suffer.

Whatever the case,

you keep coming back.

Over and over,

a phantom in my head.

"He's not real," they tell me,

"Just imagine he's not there."

But it's not that simple.

We're trapped in this dance.

You keep coming back.

And I keep staying silent,

unable to say

that enough is enough.