Hands

Chances Are
My Life will end at my own Hands
For I am naught but a tired flower
wilting in the breeze



My hands carry little
My heart even less
This is a sad one


my hands are covered in blood
and my eyes are swallowed by the ghost of my father
winding around the labyrinth of my nightmare
You are a mirror
shining like a star
being eaten by the universe
you are an ink stain
you are full of ash
you are a sweet tray of dirt
and used cigarettes


There is an explosion
across the country
the city is burning
all the ants have got their guns
and their burning down the playground
And I am sitting here
having my brain burned by the tv
while my hands
sit idle