Bleeding Rivers...

Not terribly certain of the whys.
She was let in, or that she left.
Trust was ever an issue.
Should have listened to myself.
Closer and closer still.
In far too deep for comfort,
And begging for more.
Never trust those in power.
Lonely nights and no candles.
A broken glass bottle bites the skin.
Much as one heart kills another.
The crimson pushes the dust into corners.
And I am bleeding rivers onto the hardwood floor.

2/9/99 12:30 AM