Warnings: Murder (but in self-defense)
The blood is stuck upon my hands
I cannot make it go away
In the back of my loud mind
A voice whispers it's here to stay
It's underneath my fingernails
In the palms along the lines
It reminds me of a drink
Like the darkest of red wines
I know that it was self-defense
That I'm the victim in this mess
Yet still I look down at the red
And feel something I can't express
Twenty years ago this blood
Would not have been a sight to please
Is this still the same substance
That once fell from skinned up knees?
The blood stuck on my hands belongs
To cruel men filled with a twisted view
But in my head it looks just like
The blood of kids I never knew
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
Poems to Leave Streaks of Ink
ПоэзияAnd I'd rage at the monsters, But that's the task of fools, Who cannot bring themselves to know, Monsters are humans' tools... I write poems like this, just usually longer...feel free to give some of them a read:)
