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Dec 2020
My hands hurt, my hands tremble
My hands itch, my hands scratch
My hands drag, my hands drag
My hands push, my hands shove
My hands bend, my hands break
My hands scream, my hands implore
My hands are cut off under the gleam of the midnight oil
My hands are cold, my hands are still

I will never see them again.
Radhika Krishna
Written by
Radhika Krishna  17/F/hurtling through space
(17/F/hurtling through space)   
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