Dirty Hands

November 29, 2011
There is a crack in your finger nail.
Your palms are creased with rust.
Filthy ways of work.
A stricken beast could never live.
You are the filthy one.
As my heart had leaped from my chest,
you grabbed it with your dirty hands.
I want my heart back.
You cannot keep it.
Wash your hands and then maybe I can remember.
If you truly see yourself as pure,
I really beg to differ.
Away should have been your space from mine.
You tire me from being coated with your dirt.
When i get my heart back,
I will rid it of you.
There will be no finger prints.
No rust.
I shall pry my heart away and live good once again.
I will live good once again.

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