The Guilty One

Could you cope?

She feels like flying tonight.

She thinks the wind will wash away the shame,

The remorse

The blood that inks her hands and marks her conscious a guilty one.

The judge was supposed to stop the weeping,

He was supposed to set her free.

One smash of the gavel proclaimed her “not-guilty”

But the feeling still churned in the pit of her stomach.

It spread like wildfire,

A poison that animates her limbs

And blocks out the reassurance that it wasn’t her fault,

That it was an accident.

But how can you justify the blood?

Now she can’t sleep because it’s too hard.

Because the weight of the world is the weight of her sheets.

Because darkness isn’t kind

And closing her eyes doesn’t stop the crying.

Her tears are a constant reminder of the anger

Of her helplessness and pain.

They’re the inability to go back and undo

No matter how much you will for it to happen.

But soon the tears dry,

Her throat dries

And she feels empty of everything but the guilt,

With it’s sticky fingers wrapped around her soul

Tonight those fingers squeeze her.

They squeeze and squeeze until she’s choking and vulnerable.

And they push and pull until she’s standing on the ledge,

Delirious in her instability.

Her eyes are closed and her spirit is free;

Free of everything and free of thought.

So she leans back, and she smiles

And the wind flows through her fingertips.

Tonight she thinks she is flying,

But a Guilty One can’t sprout wings.

Instead she falls like a star; enticing, enchanting,

Far too beautiful to live with what she’s done.