The Guilty Survivor

His blood is on my hands.

Washing them won't erase my sins.

As guilt crushes my heart.

My mind feels like it's falling apart.

Why won't my brain let me rest?

See, my subconscious is far too busy

Replaying every part

Of my misery.

As if it wishes to torment me

Until I confess.

Eating me up inside

So my body doesn't get any rest.

My mind is my prosecutor

While I'm on the defense.

You see I'm playing on both sides of the fence.

Trying to justify my actions

After putting myself on trail.

See he raped me

Yet I'm the one convincing myself,

"I did nothing wrong"

"And it's not my fault."

I was in the heat of the moment.

What could I have done that was so wrong?

"You played God"

"And took that man's life."

"You had no right."

"You don't get to pass judgment"

"And choose who's wrong or right!"

The prosecutor said to me.

I replied "But what about what he did to me?"

"Why did I deserve that"

"And he got to walk free?"

A continuous battle between me and me.

A war that no one can see.

I am a survivor

And yet I'm the one feeling guilty.