Hands

Cracked and bleeding,like scaborus angels

They flutter from motion to motion

trying in vein to relay a message that unto itsself is a lie

calloused and hardned by the work of a lifetime,

unrelenting in their quest to seek out the meaningful guestures

to pull them from the air itsself.

Dark and withered having known a million sensations

the freezing cold of winter

the warmth and softness of a womans brest.

Hard and swollen

tools of violence capable of carrying out the task at hand

regardless of the darkness of the deed

working together all mankind could use them

building great things and realizing our potental as a race

as noble and strong as they are

we still dont relese the choke hold we have on each other

one day we will awaken to find that weve used them to murder ourselves.