Petrichor || Somber Poems & Letters Of A Past Long Forgotten

Sweet Evangeline,
The maroon that stains my hands no matter how hard I try is weighing on the back of my mind ever more no matter how hard I scratch and peel them. The sounds of the guns and choking on blood accompanied by the smell of gunpowder, the sight of the bayonet of my gun piercing another man's chest that I never wished to hurt. It's all to much to bear, and I fear that even though you don't know it that tonight I will be gone. My knife is as clean as I could get it even though I don't deserve it as shiny as I got it only to dirty it again, this time with the blood and dirt my my own neck. Goodbye my dear,
Sincerely,
𝛹𝜃𝜇𝛾 𝐽ᔑ𝜍𝜅𝑠𝙹𝜂