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Mar 2019
red, blood stains on my hands and your body,
I’ve washed my hands a thousand times,
but i can still see the blood,
purple, all our bruised bodies, galaxies of wrath and fear,
etched into our skin and minds,
bottles shattering, bottles almost as broken as me,
our past now wrapped up in broken glass.
bland dinners, eaten in silence,
too scared to say sorry, too scared to break the silence,
and make it right again.
metal, the metallic smell of blood,
forever stained on my hands.
tears welling in your eyes, while i well with guilt
guilt, frustration, sadness
eating me away into
nothingness
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