Aug 30, 2017
My Hands
Cold, shaky, empty
Calloused, scarred
I’d not relate them to myself
Not accept them as my own
If the blade you held
Did not spill my blood
Did not prove the way it pumps
From my heart and into these
Impulsive, careless
Not controlled
Of course they’re connected to my heart
Connected to my flighty little heart
And the blade you held
Spilled my blood just the same
As if it had pierced my chest
Into my heart instead of these
Hurtful, harsh, angry
Cruel, heartless
Striking out vengeance at myself
And vengeance at my connected heart
What if the blade you held
Fell into these
And proved the way your heart pumped?
Disconnected your heart
And
Watched
You
Bleed.