Its blurry
I can only hear a faint ringing in my ears
And I can only feel but one thing
Something warm on my hands and face
It's not comforting warmth
No no
Its sickly
And panic inducing
Its a sticky substance
One i knew all too well after that night
The night I became a monster
I hate myself for what I've become
Blood it quenches my thirst
But it what cost
I know what cost
The cost of innocent lives
I quickly run home to wash it off
But this stain
The stain of blood
Blood that is not my own
Its a stain you can never wash off
It sticks around
A constant reminder of what I've become
And what I've split
It brings no comforting warmth
No no
Its sickly
It is blood
-By. N
YOU ARE READING
Whispers Of Poetry
Poetryenjoy the poems I write, im a little new to it but here it goes lol please leave your criticism and tell me what you think!
