Hands
Slime covers esily
It’s engulfing, digesting
Like an acid dissolving with a noticeable hiss
Diffusing into the brain
And just not leaving, Never leaving
It spreads from the handprint
It dampens the cloth and drips
I shuffle
The apology reaches my ears after
But the smirk that is thrown churns my stomach
I have an urge too,
To let me throw my insides
On a cycle above 60 degrees
Let me ruin myself
Make me
Not even a chance to say no before
And now I’m just tired
It follows constantly
The colour of the shirt, the skin
Hands, hands, hands, hands
Tall, too tall
I should be grateful they didn’t.
Shouldn’t I?
I now leave a trail to follow
tainting everything, or is it tint?
The urge keeps growing
Unfortunately I’m not the only one
I just hate hands, I think
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