Hands

Hands.

Her cold hands shaming

Fused in concrete she is lit

This sad scope, disinterest

Locks in breaths. Tests.

Appear again in waiting games

The vague immoral clues

Names to corrode in

Collide the skinny disguise

Emptied from excessive eyes

This waiting is corrosive

Collapsing in doubting thin

A shame her hands so worn thin…

Chris Vaughn 2015

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