Hands.

These are my hands
I have scarred them
all on my own.
and I I have seen them fighting battles
out on their own

I try to mind them I am firm but kind
they are my children
my threatened kin
I try to mind them
they are silent about where they’ve been

these are your wounds and I am not a healer
mix peroxide and salt
you know just wash it out
watch your mouth
I’m crawling back towards your shore

you know confusion my hands are birds
they’ve lost their focus
floating useless upon my sides
with my strength I’ve been ruthless
but the truth won’t find me here.

it was fatal deeply hidden
the blood on my hands
she insists it all was hers
under oceans I’ve been swimming
there’s saltwater deep within my head

it was fetal deeply hidden
the blood upon my hands
I insist it is all my own
under mountains I’ve been digging
there’s earth caked thick beneath my nails

maybe thoughtless that I am I am pretentious
but I do not stab I do not skewer
the blood upon my hands it is all my own
maybe thoughtless that I am I am pretentious
but I do not stab I do not skewer
the blood upon my hands it is all my own

approach me with the poker held high
belief in this thing is belief in steel
my hands are monsters I hold them high

cut them off they have their voices
children’s voices held up high
up in the sky angels chide them
“My hands are innocent”
or so they cry.