Stained Hands - Poem by Peter Vector
These stained hands of crimson,
And my mind drowning in sin
No escape except for pain…
In this life there will be loss and there will be gain.
My scarred and bloodied skin…
And to all that care for me the problem lies therein;
I feel my emotions bottled up within…
This poor wretched body which is to die in vain;
The stained hands…
Around my body does the world spin…
Away I seem to begin,
To fall from this materialistic world, this place that is inhumane…
My white innocence with brilliant red blood is stained!
Another slit into another vein
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