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Blood and Stains

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Below is the poem entitled Blood and Stains which was written by poet Audonus Taylor. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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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 
the
small good in a series of bad 
memories.
There, she sits, with her back arched
away from the comfort of the sofa,
ready to run but hoping to stay 
awhile.

All she knows is the me of hearsay,
the whispers and tales from the 
tongues
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 
want.
The ambivalence was painted on her 
face,
the outer layer of sheen that 
illuminated
the make-up she wore to protect her 
emotions.

But I knew, more than I knew her 
reputation,
I knew the look of self loathing that 
stood
beside wanting something, someone, 
that
was bad for you. This was that look.
She had come to me with purpose,
with no goal less than the 
impossible.
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 
words,
and desired the wounded writer she 
heard
no woman could have beyond a 
night.
She yearned to be the exception...
She needed to be more than merely
another distraction to me.
She would disprove the rumors of 
her
own identity by capturing a user of 
the users
who had dirtied the name she truly 
deserved.
All she had to do was become more 
like them,
lessen the value of her body, offer 
herself 
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 
for...

This was years ago...
when ignorance allowed bad and 
good,
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 
identity
was hers alone to create.
Back before she had children,
no husband, and a list of lovers
too long for her to want to 
remember.
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 
touch...

Today, I saw her long enough for her 
to confess this all to me...
Standing before me as every single 
thing
she once prayed to never become,
She confessed her honest regret of 
that night,
her actions, and all decisions that 
followed...
It was after I returned home that I 
thought.
It was only then that I remembered 
her, that
I vividly recalled the night she spoke 
of.
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 
regret...
One memory ensured that I would 
always
remember her name from that 
moment forward.
It was the one truth I should have 
cared enough
to never forget after my night with 
her:
"She was inexperienced, 
she was in pain during, 
and...
there were blood stains on my bed 
sheets."

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