These hands cannot bear distance , even though there is only one week left until the next reunion. My nails have recently become inflamed, turning a deathly shade of green. They have been prone to breakage due to a diet that does not suit me, and I have continuously bitten them in bouts of unimaginable anxiety. My hands have also suffered from dryness, as well as unexplained bruises and much more. These hands of mine are in separation.
Were they supposed to be better with the warmth of your hands? I don't think so. You are not a pursuer of misery, and it doesn't matter because I have grown accustomed to it.
YOU ARE READING
Taste Of Anger
PoetryI choose anger instead of sorrow I prefer madness over sadness I never want to be a victim. cover © : SIILDA
