(my) Demise

Why don't you talk about it?
Well, I can't.
And neither can I let myself remember
The time that you talked.
(about it)
I can't talk
About that;
It's buried deep
With fake grass planted over top.
I can't
The way when you scratch
a cut, the scab
Falls off and bleeds.
I can't
The way I can't

when I
fall apart and bleed.