bleeding hands from all the pain that has seeped out of my fingertips through the story I tell a story nonetheless no story is less than arduous to expose
bleeding hands from the skin of those who I’ve prodded and picked and those of who have brought out of me demon bringing detriment to themselves
bleeding hands a palm covered in currant no soul, no silhouettes to reveal there’s an ending to everything existential and mine will come soon enough-- the handprints will make sense.