Tainted

I crawl amongst the pages of memory. A voice calls me back, again and again, nausea clings to me. A deadlock of guilt, heavy chains 'round the past. The words, the looks, everything between. I don't want to believe I have tainted my lifesource. I will run from you with your twisted paintings, your poison paintbrush, your shadow palette, your lying canvas. Here - complete, there - in pieces. I can't define where the fractures end and the porcelain begins. I gag at 'together', I spit at all shared. I've been blessed with pure love and yet you try to replace it. If I could I would rip the pages from their bindings, myself from what binds me to you. But your voice calls me back, again and again, and I wish I could say goodbye, be evanescent.