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Tainted
July 18, 2013
I wish I could bleach the inside of my soul
So it would once again be as pure as freshly fallen snow,
Like it was back when winters were for snowmen,
and not just destruction.
Winters became vomit ridden wastelands,
Sickness relieved us all of our plans,
We could only wait and watch,
As the stomach acid of the winter dislodged,
and splattered itself amongst the seasoned halls,
But only our own vile concoctions line our bedroom walls.
© Raymond G., Phoenix, AZ
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