stained

i really dont know what genre to put this under and im not really a writter i guess this is me just putting down my thoughts

    Blood, the crimson droplets at my finger tips, the dark red stains around my wrist. Every time I look at my hands> These are my reminders of the things I've seen, the things I've done, and the things i could'nt do. Even though I know its not there, I still see it. Every day, every moment, I look at my hands and it gives me fear, the fear to hold my child, and ruin his innocense, to hold my wife, and stain here beauty, the fear that I will be jedged by the angels for the things I've done, and the things i could'nt do. Blood it stains my hands, my face, my sleeves, my soul, and even though I know its not really there, every time I look in a mirror I see it, and I am reminded of the things I've seen, the things I've done, and things I could'nt do.

 

   

Reviews

[Rod Dangers]

Very potent piece.
Pulls to mind the thoughts of a war vet, struggling with what happened when serving.
Writing is a release and I commend your courage in sharing this and i hope you feel a little less burdened now you have.
Thank you