Lost Innocence

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I had hoped to sanctify your heart,
As a tomb wrought with fallen hopes,
My love.
Fallen hopes, my love.

Down aisles of stone faces
And leak-sprung tears
And spindle-spun gowns
On women of forgotten sorrows,
My love.
Forgotten sorrows, my love.

And pebbles tossed into blackness.
Echoing around you
With whispers of your ghosts,
Cold in your ears
Ice down your spine
Chills up your arms
And gusts of mist wafting
From the breath you release.
And they lie. Those whisperers,
Spiders under flesh,
Flies on the wall
Thieving rumors, evolving to truth
And convincing you.
They lie,
My love.
They lie, my love.

Skittering into your fragile heart,
Fangs poisoning your blood,
Coursing through every vein,
Another bad memory.
Another vulnerability.
Another insecurity.
Every fear you’ve ever had
Brought to light in the void.
It’s poison in your veins,
My love.
It’s poison in your veins, my love.

Only poison. Nothing more.
I long to press my lips to yours,
Draw it out, every last drop.
Take the poison into myself,
Suffer the lies myself,
Suffer the rumors, the fear, the vulnerability.
The guilt.
The guilt you never should have known,
My love.
The guilt you never should have known, my love.

To press my lips to yours and draw it out,
To promise she was wrong.
To fill myself with the tainted blood,
That you might be washed clean.
That you might return to the way you were
Before the evil spider bite
Rendering you ghosted in the tomb
Of your heart among the mistakes
Of your past, and present, and future.
Among the women in spindle-spun gowns,
Before God and judgment,
But before yourself and your punishment.
A face of yourself without mercy.
Have mercy
My love.
Have mercy my love.

That the poison might be permanent,
That the stone has already been thrown,
That the blood already spilled,
That I cannot take everything back,
That you cannot return to the past…

That you might never be naive again, my love.
That you might never be naive again,
My love…

My heart weeps for lost innocence.

You know, I really hate having to go around cleaning up everyone else’s messes. If it’s not one friend hurt, it’s another. I have no problem listening, no problem trying to help out. I am happy to do what I can to help my friends and loved ones. But when it’s one friend against another and they place me in the middle, and I’m stuck. Being me, I tend to stay on the side of whomever got hurt as opposed to whomever got angry. But when I’m forced to sit down and help someone because someone else in my circle of friends hurt him/her, I just get sick. Maybe that’s what I get for having friends so vastly clashing of each other.

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About Mattie J.

My name is Mattie J. Hamilton, and I am seventeen years old. I live in a cute little house in the country in Southern Indiana, and have lived there my entire life. I self-published two books of poetry a few years ago, but I much prefer writing fiction of poetry, journalism, or any other sort of writing. I'm somewhat new to the blogging world, and I may come off as a bit of an ameteur, but hey, I am an ameteur. Proud of it. After all, I'm just a kid, and I have plenty of time to learn.

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