An electric connection,
Between my mind,
And my fingers.
I moved to wash my hands,
As the water froze fresh from the faucet,
My hands began to spark and fry.
Now I have frost burn,
In my electric skin,
From washing my hands in Michael's kitchen.
Now I'm wishing,
I never needed to make solid soup,
I could've stayed wet,
Contrary enough for my body's technology.
Jan 17, 2025
Jan 17, 2025 at 10:35 AM UTC
An electric connection,
Between my mind,
And my fingers.
I moved to wash my hands,
As the water froze fresh from the faucet,
My hands began to spark and fry.
Now I have frost burn,
In my electric skin,
From washing my hands in Michael's kitchen.
Now I'm wishing,
I never needed to make solid soup,
I could've stayed wet,
Contrary enough for my body's technology.
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