The Blood on My Hands

Darkness
The blood swishes through my brain’s twisted vines
Throbbing, huuu-aahh, a consuming ache
I press my hands to my face, begging, pleading the pain to leave and let me be
What  .  .  .  Is that  .  .  .  .
Sweat, it must be sweat
Oh God, the nausea
My innards are determined to be expelled from my body
Trembling, heaving, sweating
It’s so dark, my senses escape me
Ahh-huuhhuh, please what is that
So sticky, my hands
Let me see
Some blessed force bestows light upon me
Oh no, nonononono  .  .  .  .
Uhuh, ahhuh  .  .  .  .
The incessant screams are purged from my being
Explicitly, the intense light steals my vision from me
My pulsing head flashes the image before me
light skin light hands light blood light dripping blood light unnatural blood light
I feel faint, spinning, twirling
How  .  .  .  .
It can’t be  .  .  .  .  Stop it, please stop
The implication of evil wrongness profoundly horrifies me
I can’t control my overwhelming breathing
The rushing air scratches my bare throat
Uhahh, ahh-huh, huh-huhh
I can’t breathe  .  .  .  . Please help, get me help
The guilt, such guilt for a crime unknown
Shaking, shivering, collapsing
The blood, so bright, so deleterious
I try to understand though knowledge is whimsical
Fleeing through my vision, tickling my skin to exhaustion, brushing my ears
I stare so hard as the blood consumes my pupils
Remorseful tears do not enlighten my blinded eyes
And the blood on my hands stains me
Always there, glaring at me, making me quiver in shame
And the blood on my hands is my birthmark
Labeling me, reminding me of my wrongfulness
And the blood on my hands is mine,
Mine, and mine alone