04-11-2018, 11:20 AM
Guilty
Red hands remind me of that summer dress
you wore when we first met.
Back then, your smile was safe as a gift box
with my name attached.
Why did I let you walk home
that night? Alone except for the blind stars
and silent moon.
Allegedly, he was there too,
knife sheltered in his pocket,
lint its only probable company.
He wore your blood like face paint, allegedly.
Now, I endure these lawyers
who argue if my murder of him was a crime;
the judge watches, his blue eyes
colder than a winter sky.
Red hands remind me of that summer dress
you wore when we first met.
Back then, your smile was safe as a gift box
with my name attached.
Why did I let you walk home
that night? Alone except for the blind stars
and silent moon.
Allegedly, he was there too,
knife sheltered in his pocket,
lint its only probable company.
He wore your blood like face paint, allegedly.
Now, I endure these lawyers
who argue if my murder of him was a crime;
the judge watches, his blue eyes
colder than a winter sky.
Time is the best editor.