• The silken curtain falls from my chest
    and I see it, once more, sitting there.
    It waits for me in mockery, in jest.
    It is a pain I can not bear.

    I trace my finger along the line,
    this ugly crack upon porcelain skin.
    I know this pain, for it is mine.
    It reminds me so of all my sins.

    It has faded with the passage of time,
    yet remains this bitter taste
    of blood spilled for another’s crime,
    love forgotten and left to waste.