Bloody Hands

Poetry and art about the decay of first love.


Jasmine Lizarraga, Poet/Artist

The blood on my hands, dripping down my

fingertips from holding your heart too harshly,






Each drop representing a part of our love slowly

fading away into complete nothingness.


The stench of metal filling my mind with

pain and despair – the same way it did when you

first left me.


The blood on my hands, dripping down my

fingertips from killing my heart because

you simply no longer wanted it.






So why should I?