Sunday, 20 May 2012


I have a blister between my fingers
which I have been trying to scrub away
but the lifeless flesh lingers and lingers,
clinging on to my weathered hands like clay.

I have been told that it will go with time
but it still pesters my paranoid mind,
when it's infected with even more grime
with every dirty job that I find.

I cannot simply rest my grubby hands
because they will always need distraction
from either anyone who understands
or anyone who provides them action.

And when the dead skin finally recedes
I will be left with all my restless needs...

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