Return to Sender

Another random poem I wrote at work. Because there's too much time to think.

I'm keeping an endless list of my mistakes
Like quitting cold;
I still hide my shakes
The taste of your tainting kiss;
I no longer believe in a domestic bliss
Your Father's gift lies abused and cast out;
That your graces have no more room,
I truly doubt
All things are labeled "return to sender"

No rains reach my eyes anymore
I've cut them open
And torn out your silver thread
The stitches used for the wounds I didn't have before
As it never was, it is so again
If only you could have cut out my heart instead

Author's Note

Guess there's always gonna be residue of this to dig out. Oh well.