Penitence

In the vast and open night,
you've cut open these old wounds of mine.
Unconsciounable fear makes you weep,
as blood soaks the yellowed floors.

Have you heard what I said?
Does this act make you whole?
Torn from my lips and casted against me,
you do not seem to hear.

The morrow will bring a plea,
of unneeded words of consolation.
Though it remains my retribution
to keep my blood soaked fingers on your lips,
to stave the sorrow and the remorse,
of acts done in unkind.

Malice gives heed to your moods,
dearest cold-minded love,
as you sink softly into your penance,
of sweetly whispered words