I put on my denim jacket,
the one with the hole above the front pocket.
There was a weight attached to the jacket, or
a heaviness so burdensome that I had to tear it off.

The collar smelled of
gold Marlboros, bonfires, and vanilla perfume.
All these scents, once ambrosial, are now
reminders of people I become insane by remembering.

Along the lining of the inside,
marks made from people I no longer know 
transport me to a winter that happened years ago.
The denim is so worn that it cannot keep me warm.

I bought this jacket before
I forgot that winter is not supposed to be 
a tangent universe, or
a dissociation spell where one has to relive their traumas.

When I owned this jacket,
I lent it to the bodies of people I treasured.
There is a vodka stain from my best friend and
a sharpie stain from a previous lover.

Now, the jacket hangs haunted and heavy,
weighted down by the memories it contains
in a closet covered in cursive apologies.
Someday, I hope to outgrow it.

Featured art: Unknown