Your touch.
Feels like my favorite fuzzy blanket,
on my skin.
it lingers as a pleasant memory,
of where our skin once collided.

The pleasant memories
fade.
they turn into
cuts
on my
arms,
they bleed
out of my brain
and onto the floor.

The memories are,
slowly,
replaced.
Replaced with
new pleasant memories,
with new pleasant people.

The cycle continues.