the damage i have done
is nothing close to the
punishment you deserve
when does the end ever
truly
justify the means
when there was no end at all?
my sacrifices
and my efforts
are nothing but maybes
and might have beens
pieces of the story never added to
the puzzle as they should've been
back then
transient as the smell of his cologne
conditional as the bruises
decorating my skin
unreliable as the shaky voice of
a girl who's just nine years old
pain and regret are my best friends
knowing i could disprove their alibi
but even if you accepted my word as fact
it's easy to lose track of it
among all that paper work
67 years was all your lousy investigation could do
you call the blood circumstantial?
