Bloody hands drip crimson
with ache and regret,
I broke the very thing
I tried so hard to protect
Flood after salty flood
cannot wash away
this guilt and all my shame,
these shards opening a vein
Dripping drops of love
that should be treasured,
yet now are spattered
about, given unmeasured
But whoever measured love?
Who taught it to go by rule?
Who said it wasn't messy?
No one—no one but a fool
A different fool am I,
who aches for doing right
and crushing joy
in the heart of a broken boy
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