I used to want
to give you the world
as my apology.
I used to want to
plead,
beg for forgiveness
on
my
knees.
I would have stayed
at your feet
until I bled,
and I would have written how sorry I was
in that red paint.
But now,
on my bloodstained hands
it's not mine,
but your scarlet red ink
and I laugh
because I'm not sorry
anymore.
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