Tainted

The stains of sorrow cling and rub

No matter how much she claws and scrubs

Nothing seems to purge those inner scars

Imprinted deep where pureness once was

She closes her lids, for a brief veil

To respite the consuming pain

Yet, shadows paint the vivid scenes

The echoes whisper, haunting the stillness
 
The memory’s hand weight too heavy

On this deserted land, still pressing freshly

Will solace ever be found in this cleansing foam

Or to a never home, she must wander?