Hands

Slime covers esily It’s engulfing, digesting Like an acid dissolving with a noticeable hiss Diffusing into the brain And just not leaving, Never leaving It spreads from the handprint It dampens the cloth and drips I shuffle The apology reaches my ears after But the smirk that is thrown churns my stomach I have an urge too, To let me throw my insides On a cycle above 60 degrees Let me ruin myself Make me Not even a chance to say no before And now I’m just tired It follows constantly The colour of the shirt, the skin Hands, hands, hands, hands Tall, too tall I should be grateful they didn’t. Shouldn’t I? I now leave a trail to follow tainting everything, or is it tint? The urge keeps growing Unfortunately I’m not the only one I just hate hands, I think