Stained

November 20, 2013

You've infected my heart,

My soul,

Like an ink pen to paper,

Whose darkness bleeds all throughout,

Soaking every fiber in shadow, never to be white again.

There is no taking back,

Erasing,

Deleting,

Throwing away,

Cutting out.

There is no ridding myself of you.

The ink of your existence has stained even the deepest recesses of my heart.

How can I go on?

How can I march on when you've stained me,

Marked me,

And abandoned me?

Without a way to cleanse myself of you, your lies?

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.