CRIME

Written by: DANIELA VOICU

I wanted to cure myself
of you
killing my past,
easily washing my hands
of the blood that flows
from the wounds
filled with idylls.
I burned the past
and threw its ashes
in the wind,
as your complex words.
I wanted to cure myself of you
walking upon time,
and any expectation
I still have—
my hands are grubby.