My Hands
My hands tightly closed to a fist again
The blood running
Pulsating
Wanting to draw out anger.
And it opened, lending a hand
The blood rushing
Anticipating
Wanting to draw out of happiness.
Then fell down, unwillingly
The blood flowing
Excruciating
Wanting to draw out pain.
Can’t help it, can’t stop
If these hands want to feel
The rush, the want
Of what it’s purposed to.
Once again…
…I penned.
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