Clean Slate

Friendship turns into this hate.
Hate carves its scars into my slate.
My slate is stone, and it remains.
The scars they cause suffering pains.
I hurt myself, fed my own flame.
Now I'll live with my own shame.
My words were harsh, but not unspoken.
And now our bond by words is broken.
My anger hates, and so it lies.
Because of this, our friendship dies.
The stone is carved, and it will last.
My slate will always tell my past.
One day, may we forget this hate,
then I will have my own clean slate.

by Jesse Bauer

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.