Stating the truth does not make me innocent. For I have killed, in such I am deeply ashamed. Yet, I walked along the jagged edges of remorse, and guilt, but I don't take the blame. For you see, I am the suspect of this tragic whisper. I am not apologetic, but I am afraid. You see, this was no ordinary murder. I tore her limb from limb, I broke her heart, made her fall only to leave her heaving from the impact of me not catching her. And I am reluctant to say she did not cry out in agony nor pain, neither did she wait for the sirens to come. Instead she looked at me with dying eyes, though, she did not wish for my devise. "Oh you beautiful monster." she said, "you are not who I despise." Her voice is still in my mind. But, I am a monster, and I will forever be one. Significant were her words, though they mean nothing to me today. But, such a deviant mess I have become. So tell me, who am I to judge, when it is me myself who leaves me undone.
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YOU ARE READING
Every Tear
PoetryStaring at these blank pages my mind is empty, the words won't bleed from my fingertips, for they only know my eyes.
