washed and hung out to dry,
in an attempt to forget,
all of the stains you created on me.
my bleached heart,
tumbles in the hands of those,
who would wish to clean it,
but instead only succeed in,
blackening it more.
it's hard to say,
whether I prefer this
or the hell that would be you now.
my sacred, pristine heart,
bled on and stepped on.....
and still wanting.
and still waiting.
Third poem of yours tonight - you are very good. I will read as many as I can each time I come here.
kerry
http://kerrybrennan007.blogspot.ca