Red Remorse, Black Guilt

a poem by SheWrites

“I could tell you a lot of things.”
He expected to hear sweet nothings.
Lust filled words travelling through the dust.
But I shot him with the truth,
Expecting him to bleed red in Remorse.
Instead he bled black in Denial.
No admission of guilt.
But really what did I expect?
for him to bleed red in remorse.

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