To Wash Away The Memory
Cut in a way,
A blade never will,
Shallow and deep,
But blood wasn’t spilt.
More subtle, more fine,
Complex and in my mind’s eye:
Divine.
These wounds taste like wine.
Pain as penance, Agony the sentence,
Cleansing with each slash,
Please just another splash,
To wash away the memory.
Rich reds to drown sorrows in,
Sipping slowly and contemplating sin.
Where it begins with grace and class,
Sweet oblivion: absolution in a glass.
Drinking away the past,
Numb to the present,
And praying the future never comes,
Because I am unarmed and unprepared.
Pain as penance, Agony the sentence,
Cleansing with each slash,
Please just another splash,
To wash away the memory.
Citrus scents and savage regrets,
Not quite the purity of white,
Tainted, distantly related;
Some thirsts can’t be sated.
Pain as penance, Agony the sentence,
Cleansing with each slash,
Please just another splash,
To wash away the memory.
