Bloody Hands

I can’t tell who’s blood you have on your hands ?!      
       
Hers ?! Mine ?! Yours ?! What was that you said !? You can lie your arse off to anyone. Hmm. Well. You’re not a decent man.        
       
Telling several women you love them, for how many years !?        
       
You’re someone who lies through their teeth, and how many of us fell for all your lies as you lulled us on the dreamscape, all those years ago.        
       
For so many years, we poured ourselves in to you, for what ?!        
       
To be on the receiving end of your sadistic ways as your only motivation was to elicit tears & bitterness, whilst maintaining the mind fuck for as long as you could ?!      
       
I woke up to the games you played with a pair of hearts that you were undeserving of in the first instance.        
       
Still running with scissors, misusing those 3 words, like it means nothing.        
       
And now, you’re trying to clutch at straws whilst holding on to the only fool left at the table trying to feast upon more of your lies.        
       
Nothing good can ever be built upon a foundation of lies.        
       
It’s a pity you’re unable to see the damage you caused because you have blood on your hands.        
       
And no, why would I be jealous !? How old are you ?! Because, we’re not little kids, who know no better.      
       
Her insecurities speak for themselves as I’m secure in my femininity, and capability to express myself.
 
And you, well… you’re just you, how could I ever expect anything good & decent from someone like you when you tell so many lies.