I've done it again, I've cut you with my clumsiness.

A slip of the tongue and laughter loses all that which it once held, falling flawlessly like water through cupped hands.
I kneel before you, attempt to staunch the flow, sudden now, gushing and suspiciously darkened red.

Can't you see what it is that you do to me? Can you not hear the words you speak?  
My hands may be red but so are yours.

I mirror your actions and the consequences are dire; I hate to call you a hypocrite but this self sympathy is starting to get old.