my hands are
jagged, rough
peeling from
the way i treat you
like i push you
aside
some things
always reflect.
my hands have become a mirror,
and i do not like the reflection
that i see.
my soft, gentle hands -
how i miss them
it has been years, and
i am tired of shoving you away
of palming and pushing
while longing to pull towards
me, to be embraced.
of course, the city
enfolds me in its comfort
the bars, the lively darkness
lights leaping, yet i
am utterly alone
so alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment