you
hated
your hands.
you called
them death.
you called
them cursed.
you called
them fists.
they were
so bloodied.
but the
red
could never
be washed
out.
i know this
because
i have seen you
try.
you have tried
to scrub
the red
off your hands,
until
they bled red
themselves.
but it
will not
come off.
your
hands
are forever
stained
with the
blood of loved ones,
with the
blood of enemies,
with the
blood of yours.
you are so
fucking tired
of seeing red.
YOU ARE READING
Tears For You
Poetry❝ i wished i had said that it was okay to cry, but instead i cried tears for you. ❞
