Mud On My Clean White Tiles Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt
Mud On My Clean White Tiles
Your words are mud
on my clean white tiles.
Stagnant breath that
fills my arms
with lost expectations.
You are my hot and cold.
Remembrance of frosted ice
that melts like
a permanent marker.
I am not your salvation.
I have no
magic fairy dust
to give you.
I will not help you.
I will not surrender
to your constant
paranoia.
Let us imagine
I've already said goodbye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/30/2024 12:36:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
