These Hands

These hands don't hurt like they once did. When you left, the pain went with you. So did all of the swelling and all of the shifted knuckles and all of the clenched fists late at night when I didn't feel anything other than the urge to throw these hands in the whatever direction the nearest wall may be. These hands. The same hands that used to run through your hair and dance on your skin like a wildfire, trying to show you how much I really care, are now broken. The scars and the lumps are now just a sick and twisted reminder of what could have been. Now look at em.... These poor bastards are now being used to scrape the last drop of feelings that I may have concerning us, onto a piece of paper. Just to make my day better.