Stains

Stains......
Everyone has  their stains,
Except for you because you left all of yours with me.
And I can still see them everywhere.
Some dark and thick,
Red wine dried like blood on my sleeve,
Or soft and light,
Barely noticeable like the watermark on the back of a hundred dollar bill,
Big like Texas
And small like the way you made me feel when you walked out the door.
Stains left after multiple attempts to scour them away
With bleach
Turpentine
Lacquer-thinner.
The stains you painted my life with.
Precise brush strokes made me your perfect Picaso.
Beautiful but twisted.
Sometimes I sit in the apartment we shared
And upon taking a deep breath I realize that the smell,
That combination of sweat and sex and your perfume,
The smell is gone
But I can still see the stains.

Reviews

[TTBoy28]

Wow. I guess the only way to rid yourself of the stains is to replace the thing, the item. But, it seems as if the writer wants at least that reminder. I like the way the suspect is describe and remembered. It's also interesting how the stains are blood, bloody...as in pain and murder. Good job!