She And I

Every week we sit together,

Regarding in front of us

The filthy stinking pond:

My life.

I choose a stick

And stir around.

Every week I fish out

Another filthy ingredient

And lay it out.

We examine the filthsome item.

Touch it, twist it, turn it.

It is left on the ground

Open to the air.

A further relic of my experiences for

Discussion and placement

With earlier loathesome items.

How many more can there be?

Still screaming inside,

I feel utterly contaminated

By my bitter past.