it is late and the blood stains soaking in on my handsMature

It is late and the blood stains
soaking in, invisible, on my hands
are burning reminders of the things
I’ve killed in my dreams and though
physics and reason and logic all say
I’m fine, I’m clean, I’m not this beastly thing
that stirs inside of me, plausibility
is crushing me.  and I am no sinner
but I am no saint; I am one girl
and a thousand mistakes.

The End

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