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Blood On My Hands

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All I can see is red. Red on your pretty dress, red on your pretty face, red in your pretty hair. Red runs and it drips, it pools and it congeals.

Red.

Tentatively I reach out a shaking hand, but there is nothing for me to feel but cold.

And red.

My face feels wet, is it raining? I pull my hand away and I see that it too is red.

Red.

There is so much of it. Where did it all come from?

I can't bear to see it spoil you. Reaching into my pocket I take out a tissue and tenderly wipe your face. The red fades into a faint pink, but it is still there, taunting, tormenting, mocking.

I pull you into my arms, and I sit there murmuring soothing nonsense.

Red.

How can there be so much of it?

Memories come flooding back to me. The first meeting, the first look, the first caress, the first kiss. The first time we made love.

Red has taken it all away.