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Blood and Stains

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Blood and Stains

There is a sadness in her smile, 
a sorrow that conceals itself within 
the curl of the corner of her lips.
It's like watching someone discover 
small good in a series of bad 
There, she sits, with her back arched
away from the comfort of the sofa,
ready to run but hoping to stay 

All she knows is the me of hearsay,
the whispers and tales from the 
of mutual acquaintances who will not 
allow me to change from what was...
This is the me she expected.
This is the me she wanted to not 
The ambivalence was painted on her 
the outer layer of sheen that 
the make-up she wore to protect her 

But I knew, more than I knew her 
I knew the look of self loathing that 
beside wanting something, someone, 
was bad for you. This was that look.
She had come to me with purpose,
with no goal less than the 
She wanted my heart 
and would risk her virtue 
for the chance to confirm 
I did or did not had one...

She had heard my stories, read my 
and desired the wounded writer she 
no woman could have beyond a 
She yearned to be the exception...
She needed to be more than merely
another distraction to me.
She would disprove the rumors of 
own identity by capturing a user of 
the users
who had dirtied the name she truly 
All she had to do was become more 
like them,
lessen the value of her body, offer 
for the fragile promise of my 
attention for as long as possible.

All she had to do was make sex 
become love.
The reverse of what she was raised 
to believe.
The opposite of what she wished 

This was years ago...
when ignorance allowed bad and 
black and white, to be equated 
with the world in her eyes.
Before life itself taught her 
of the truer reality of shades of grey.
Back before she knew that her 
was hers alone to create.
Back before she had children,
no husband, and a list of lovers
too long for her to want to 
Back before she realized that she 
could not
change anyone but herself...
Before she made the choice to give
herself to my drunken desire, 
lascivious nature, and uncaring 

Today, I saw her long enough for her 
to confess this all to me...
Standing before me as every single 
she once prayed to never become,
She confessed her honest regret of 
that night,
her actions, and all decisions that 
It was after I returned home that I 
It was only then that I remembered 
her, that
I vividly recalled the night she spoke 
And a sad sense of sorrow came 
over me 
as I recalled the morning after...
And I remembered everything...

And one memory filled me with guilt,
One memory knocked the wind out 
of me
and replaced it with shame and 
One memory ensured that I would 
remember her name from that 
moment forward.
It was the one truth I should have 
cared enough
to never forget after my night with 
"She was inexperienced, 
she was in pain during, 
there were blood stains on my bed 

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