Wounded

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Your skin's stained in sin,

From your head to your toes;

So much blood on your hands,

From the wounds I well know.

Yet the trauma I've faced,

May be nothing like yours;

'Cause heartless as you seem,

That beat I can't ignore.

And guilt is an injury,

As folly's a scar;

Those tears that you shed,

Full of heart, fall as far.

I question, I scorn,

This pity I feel;

For you and your pain,

Your presence is surreal.

Like I can't comprehend,

Quite what's transpired;

The hazy memories,

You just now inspired.

But I can't shake the thought,

Though i can't understand;

Of how I must haunt you,

Do I still have clean hands?

That soft side I hide,

It plagues me at night;

When you sob deep inside,

Your tears blur my sight.

You miss me, you do,

Something I can't explain;

But you haven't forgot,

The life in my name.

And I hear you say it,

I hear you cry out;

And I call out back,

To give light with my shout.

To pull back the shadows,

Silhouettes of my face;

That heighten your panic,

And heighten my pain.

We're one with 2 sides,

The same at the core;

So all that you feel,

I feel as, if not more.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry,

I say it again;

No shame, no trick,

I'm sorry, I am.

Maybe you're sorry too,

I'd like to imagine;

If those tears fall in truth,

You're not all abandoned

By love, by mercy,

By hope and by faith;

You still wish to redeem,

The mistakes which you've made.

So I wonder who's to blame?

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