Blood on my hands

Blood on my hands (20th June 2008, 9.46am)

It is to here that I have led my pride,
Prepared a virgin sacrifice,
Sharpened the sacrificial knife,
Whitened the bleeding dish.

If there is blood on my hands
In the evening that follows this,
I shall wash away the redness
And the guilt with fairy liquid.

Lady Macbeth, clutching my sides;
Watch them split, leak, as I cry;
To think it’s taken years of solstices
To fetch me to the edge of your horizon.

I watch the sun set, haloing the sky
With crimson, ochre, magenta hues
And turn to the bound emotion
On the stone in her last death throes.

As I slit, the spray abounds, hits
You in the face, drips down your nose
And my laughter rents the air, high,
And catches on the promises of night.

I shouldn’t have worn the white dress;
This was never a marriage, just a
Lack of love, a glut of unkept promises
And far above, the last vestige vanishes.

It is tonight that I have come with love
To offer up the last boundary;
My heart is tied to what’s inside, and true,
Pride is dead, and in her blood, I drown you.