Crippled Hands

My crippled hands,
they hold a burning
morbid aspect you
see I am turning.

I burn from within,
the flame consumes.
I think of sweet things;
of flowers in bloom.

Soon goes a song I
thought you’re well.
But I see you’re here
amdist fumes hell.

I burn there too for
I explore the fumes.
Yet the toxic cliché
overhead it looms.

Try to twist me and
find I do not care
that you label me as
one so unaware.

I am going to change,
in my private thoughts,
my thoughts of you
grave they sabotage.

I’m going to release
now I will medicate.
I’ll drown this bottle,
puff away all the hate.

My crippled hands,
in an instant magic,
I slaughter all logic
and find it so tragic.

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