Rotting Tragedy

July 30, 2008
By Renee Taylor, Medina, OH

I watch these lovely slashes,
That can’t refuse to drip down my leg
Like the tears that refuse to fall from my eyes
Though I need those tears so badly
Hoping that maybe
She will melt like she did in his arms
And wash away with tears.
Having formed in the back of my head,
Carving painful tears with sharp edges,
Breathing stale green life into them,
Sending them on their way to sting my eyes.
But she does not pour out with them,
She’s much too careful for that.
Infecting my dreams and corrupting my mind,
Distorting my sight,
I couldn’t see how she was destroying me.
But someday, I swear to what’s left of me,
She will leave in the tears that she came,
Where is she now?
Rotting my thoughts and my doctrines away.
Ugly, industrial, dying, and wet,
Fragile, broken, screaming, dead.
Tragedy dies and rots inside my head.
And there is nothing left to do but wait,
Until her memory washes out someday.


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