Portrait

I'm waiting for what you did to me

to be washed away.

Though you never touched me,

there is blood

running from my legs,

smothered on my hands,

and my once-pretty floral dress.

Transparent lacerations...

I have no good memories

of you anymore.

I transfer the blood

from my hands to yours.

Because the truth lies

in the fact that

it is yours, not mine.

I cut my hair and dye it

as if a portrait

can change.

And I will kill you

by killing myself.  And I

will kill you by rising

like the angel

you told me I was.