Bleeding

The red came up and down my arms

All but a remembrance of her unjust full passing

Why is it we feel pain to feel remorse

We self mutilate our bodies only to feel better about whom we are
Inside 

Is love our only guide or all but an illusion only to cast but tainted hope

That will only become more and more tainted in till
It is corrupt

But I am all but a peon in a world full of masters

 Indeed it is corrupt