Black Branches, Colored Carpets, and Buttprints in the Sand

Memories not wanting to be forgotten
are falling down my face,
followed by relationships
I don’t want to leave behind.
Creating jagged branches of black
that spread across my face
then descend to the floor,
staining the once white carpet.

Who gets white carpet anyways?
It only gets dirty and worn.
Black.
Now that’s more like it.
No need to hide my life stains –
they just blend in.
Maybe blue carpet,
to hide my tears of sadness,
or red to hide the nights of pain;
maybe a fading pink,
from the nights my heart felt so brutally slain.
And green to hide my envy
of who he was with instead of me.
Purple carpet to hide all my restless nights
or all my broken dreams
that might as well have been artificial;
or perhaps carpet the color of an orange rose,
to hide the tears I shed
desiring to be good enough for once.
Colors I wish were there,
so my life stains weren’t visible
for everyone to see.
But I’m stuck with white –
showing all that I’ve gone through -
my jaded innocence.

Grazing my hand across my face,
I smear the black branches
into streaks of uncertainty;
sheets of tears continuing down,
making the streaks of uncertainty
start to droop and deform –
once again re-organizing
into a tangled mess of jagged,
this time broken,
black branches.

I’m back where I started,
no further ahead,
but maybe a little further behind;
tears fearing the unknown
still falling from my eyes.
I’ve got no where to hide them
as they fall gracefully,
discoloring where they land.
I fear where I’m going,
even more that I’m going no where,
and just making buttprints in the sand.