I would love to add to the Tainted Saints trend that seems to be going around...but I only know how to write what I know.
My story is not the one of a Saint, just a broken,lost, displaced heart. xoxo
I have sold my soul to the shame these bones have claimed-
My body has been bargained for, auctioned off-
tainted merchandise only matched by the expertise
these hands,this mouth, this body knows.
My worth is measured by the efforts made-
labored breathing and masked faces uttering their pleasure,
their contentment audibly praising my tasteless skills.
They pay,with their secrets or the bitter drink,perhaps a bit of herbal remedy,
already mentally disposing of me, a easily forgotten fragment of memory.
So,like trash ,tossed,useless,into the gutter I hide.
I have sold my soul to the bandage of shame
infamy the only inheritance to which my bones can claim.
unable to purge my body of unmentionable sins,
i hid my face,refused the opportunities of change that mend.
Denial was easier to add to my name.
Broken, tainted, and despised.
Just as I have always been,and will be til I've died.
But I've found love and hope and have discovered other things-
That even the grungiest can be cleansed-
Even the most wayward soul can be led back home.