There is blood on the face but soon it will dry. There's none in disgrace for then we will lie. The sore on their arm will turn into skin. The deeds of today no more than sin.
Their smile's a knife gash bruised red, not crying with each finger snapped to keep them from trying. They breathe out a tube with a slow beeping heart. Wipe the blood from your hands that were clean at the start.
You convinced me to do this when I said I knew how you they they deserved it that they must take a bow. I can see they were strong once perhaps even real in the hospital mirrors. I see that others will heal