Tears of blood

A bag over his head

Could he breathe

His lungs burn with old air

~

We didn’t know her

But walked the streets

Calling her name 

~

He wrote a letter

That he would kill them

That they should die

.

His muscles seize and cramp

By hand

He is grateful and sorry

~

She is found

Our tears

Switch to joy

~

Blood dries on the blade

No erasure

Of guilt

.

Something cheerful for Friday morning.

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