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I Was Here
she takes the hand
that taught her how to wave hello
and she breaks all his fingers
with those sickening, melodic snappings of irony.
as his bones transcend all the love
he ever had for her
the rolling hills of his knuckles
tremor as the earth around him quakes
and shatters.
and those wrinkles on his palms
they’re getting deeper
the skin landing in all the wrong places
his invisible arteries are not where they should be
because she’s displaced them.
it doesn’t take a psychic
to see the crippled future
in that hand.
pain
she just wants it to be tangible
she just wants to see the parallels
she just wants proof
in the form of this mangled limb,
a sign that says ‘I was here.’
but the thing about bones is
they never heal quite the same
and silently she’s wondering
if he has the slightest idea
what she’s hiding under her own cuticles.
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This article has 1 comment.
I think I mised what you were trying to get acrossin the last few lines.