her mess

Every touch was torture
She wrapped his injuries meticulously slow but painfully tight.
He heaved hard looking straight ahead with a stern frown.
Silence.
She inched up to his torso and accessed another wound with her supple fingers
Overwhelmed with pity and guilt she attempted a little innocent peck
But before she could
He stood up with a violent stumble
And tottered off from the corner bench into light
Staring at his defiant silhouette
She knelt there cupping her broken heart
She failed.