Can't you see the blood on my hands?
I know I washed them, just five minutes ago
But ... it's still there.
Crimson tainted over my fingers, my palm.
I just want to scream and run away
From all the bloodshed,
All the pain.
I know I'm a mercenary.
Can you translate that?
It means assassin.
Regardless of who it is
I kill them.
And for what?
Money.
I kill humans, people.
Just for some pieces of metal and paper.
That's how I'm supposed to compensate my morals.
But what about their families?
For every drop of blood I spill
A tear falls from their eyes.
Hyne, what have I done?
I'll stand here, at the sink and
Wash.
Blood is mostly water, it has to run off.
Sooner of later.
But not before it's ruined me.
Not before it's destroyed me.
Not before I cry.
So the tears will mingle with the tap water.
It will all run down the drain.
I could've done something worth money.
But I grew up to kill people.
For money.
How can Ma think this is so great?
Even my gloves can't keep the stains from
Glowing in my eyes.
Like neon lights,
I see them in my dreams,
When I wake
And always through the day.
But they're so much worse at night.
It haunts my dreams, warps them.
Twines together the threads of a nightmare.
Blood spilled of my hands.
For money.
I'll spill some more.
I know I will.
There. The blood runs down the drain now
And my hands are so cold, like my heart.
I never once felt for any of those people.
I never pitied them,
I never thought twice about the mission.
I killed them.
~o~
Author's Notes: Oh ... my first kind of dementedly dark poem. Finally. I wanted to do one, didn't think it would turn out to be a FFVIII one though. *shrugs* Ding-dong, it works. R&R.
I know I washed them, just five minutes ago
But ... it's still there.
Crimson tainted over my fingers, my palm.
I just want to scream and run away
From all the bloodshed,
All the pain.
I know I'm a mercenary.
Can you translate that?
It means assassin.
Regardless of who it is
I kill them.
And for what?
Money.
I kill humans, people.
Just for some pieces of metal and paper.
That's how I'm supposed to compensate my morals.
But what about their families?
For every drop of blood I spill
A tear falls from their eyes.
Hyne, what have I done?
I'll stand here, at the sink and
Wash.
Blood is mostly water, it has to run off.
Sooner of later.
But not before it's ruined me.
Not before it's destroyed me.
Not before I cry.
So the tears will mingle with the tap water.
It will all run down the drain.
I could've done something worth money.
But I grew up to kill people.
For money.
How can Ma think this is so great?
Even my gloves can't keep the stains from
Glowing in my eyes.
Like neon lights,
I see them in my dreams,
When I wake
And always through the day.
But they're so much worse at night.
It haunts my dreams, warps them.
Twines together the threads of a nightmare.
Blood spilled of my hands.
For money.
I'll spill some more.
I know I will.
There. The blood runs down the drain now
And my hands are so cold, like my heart.
I never once felt for any of those people.
I never pitied them,
I never thought twice about the mission.
I killed them.
~o~
Author's Notes: Oh ... my first kind of dementedly dark poem. Finally. I wanted to do one, didn't think it would turn out to be a FFVIII one though. *shrugs* Ding-dong, it works. R&R.
