Standing in forty-degree weather;
Water threatening to change to ice.
Perhaps, the rain will cleanse me,
And I will feel pure.
Maybe their blackened fingerprints
Will fade away from my skin.
The grease from their selfish palms
Leaving without a trace.
If I stand out in the cold showers,
The storm may sanitize my soul.
And maybe,
Just maybe...
I will forget their selfish appetites.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Standing in forty-degree weather;
Water threatening to change to ice.
Perhaps, the rain will cleanse me,
And I will feel pure.
Maybe their blackened fingerprints
Will fade away from my skin.
The grease from their selfish palms
Leaving without a trace.
If I stand out in the cold showers,
The storm may sanitize my soul.
And maybe,
Just maybe...
I will forget their selfish appetites.
For myself
For a past (and present) I don't share of often.
