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blood was on her hands
that thick heavy kind.

she was surprised, always
imagining it as thin 
water, but it was dark
wine, filled with bits and pieces
of a life she never wanted. 

but the deed was done, 
blood runs south, never north,
never back into veins.

though her hands shook,
the river washed her clean, only
her fingernails clung
to that dark rusty red.

she was not surprised:
absolution comes at a price

A/N: Prompt, blood

Created: Apr 08, 2014

Tags: absolution, fiction, blood, poetry, price, free-verse, story

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