Wiping clean
The bathroom mirror,
Didn't absolve
The inner sinner.
Two eyes bore through
A remorseful soul,
Like silver pissholes
In the snow.
Then the blood
Ran while shaving,
Red droplets
Not worth saving,
Found design on my neck,
Like the thornless rose
From the tarot deck,
Looking at a lost soul-mate,
Red-faced and forlorn.
Fierce and piercing
Love and hate;
The paradox
Of the repentant's fate.