I am no longer a stranger
to words that appear to harm me.
Forgiveness is such a formidable weapon
to wield and cultivate properly.
Feeling such emotions, raw and effective,
has left me blind to your charms
thrown like dust made of gold.
May I, then, ask a question
to discover why we are here?
Will your answer be the one I have been seeking
or shall it confuse me more?
My mouth bleeds red, dripping
carelessly upon my guilt stained hands.
The white gloves are not good enough
to count as penance.
I turn and see nothing that reminds me of you,
only a shadow, rotten and bloated,
that calls me by my true name.