Rorschach

on

I had an itch
near the place my heart sits
I scratched it
it bled a little
a miniature red river
stained my shirt
took on a puddle
in the fabric
that resembled the Rorschach tests.

I psychoanalysed myself
and in the blotted mark
I saw the shape of an angel
—OR
maybe just a stain on my heart
that wouldn’t wash.

3 Comments Add yours

  1. johncoyote says:

    I never try to wash away, scratch away the bad memories. I did try to drink away. That didn’t work either. I liked this poem dear Hayley.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hayley says:

      We all try to erase our personal pitfalls and grievances and not every method we apply in our attempt to move on is healthy or serves us well. I’ve met many characters in my time and plenty of those have been pieces of myself. I can’t claim to be flawless by any stretch of the imagination…thanks for reading. I guess we need to keep some of the bad stuff with us to remind us not to do it again; maybe…

      Liked by 1 person

      1. johncoyote says:

        You are right Hayley. Hold the regret as a safety wall, but we must be brave. Take no chances, never know what, the possibilities of what can be. Be careful and be safe.

        Liked by 1 person

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