THE PUNISHED AND THE RIGHTEOUS

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Hands.

Hands everywhere.

Hands unwashed in lakes of morality.

Hands invading me like bugs.


Hands that shush me, cover my mouth

My teeth are stained with gore and pain.

Their fingers wrap around my waist

And travel, travel, travel South.


Hands that caress my face so gently

Breathing in my midnight skin.

Hands who scatter truth like wind

Of the things they've done so evidently.


Hands that take things, hands that steal

Offering maturity and impurity.

Hands that tell me what nobody knows.

If the hands are lying, what is real?

the veiled lady/hailstones between my teethWhere stories live. Discover now