your hands don't look like
hands anymore.
even the dirt under
your fingernails
hates you.
your skin melts to dust
every time you think.
scabs on your fingers
from when you decided
you didn't want
fingers anymore.
you can still smell
your rotting bone.
rip off your fingernails
you never should have had
any anyways.
take them and slice your
palm, put a hand print
on the stone, an oath
that someday you'll
be better.
even the dirt under
your filthy skin
hurts you.