Washed My Hands Of This
Gone first thing this morning.
The frost has settled on the empty spaces.
I don't recall much, the empty bottle...
Lay broken by the empty arm chair.
I wash my hands of this.
No more midnight mixtures.
The tears have gone first thing this morning.
Broken glass on the track,
Didn't look back.
Why do the tears come down with the phone call?
I washed my hands of this.
Yet here you sit,
Empty bottle broken on the torn armchair.
I don't love this anymore.
A smile that use to heal my broken heart...
Now arouses the fear in the resonating pieces.
I washed my hands of this...
Why am I standing here, broken bottle empty within my hands.
Stay away...forever.
I washed my hands of this...
Why is it on my mind?
Another broken hearted smile at the bottom of a bottle.
I washed my hands of you..
but why am I still crying?
-Kaitlin Platti-
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