I will be responsible for my actions.

My feet track through the sand.
It is evening, the sun not quite gone, but past sunset.
The beach is long, the sand is cold.
 
Keeping a steady pace,
a presence seems to join me.
I can feel it staring.
 
As my eyes begin to release a steady stream,
I hear it speak:
"Why are you crying?"
 
My steps falter, then continue,  
a little slower and stiffer than before.
My hands are cold.
 
It continues "I do not hold any resentment."
The words feel honest,
like an attempt to soothe.
 
I keep walking.
The sun has almost gone.
The beach is cold.
 
"I do not care if you are guilty.
I made you in my image.
Your actions mean nothing."
 
My feet finally stop,
my jaw tightens, my hands clench.
Almost shouting, I exclaim:
 
"I CARE. I CARE IF AM GUILTY.
IT MATTERS TO ME, AND IF YOU FORGIVE ME,  
THAT IS WHAT MEANS NOTHING."
 
The beach is silent.
There is no wind, nor moving waves.
My eyes remain ahead.
 
The sun has fully disappeared,
leaving the barren landscape a freezing wasteland.
My face remains damp.
 
Blood trickles between my fingers,  
and drips to the ground.
Red dots fill the sand.
 
A choked sob claws its way out my mouth,
painting the silence with its vibrant colors,
and I dip my head in submission.
 
"The blood on my hands,
may be my own,
but a life has been taken nonetheless."