Hands
hands have a story
not one is the same
they start out the same way they end up
fragile
the lines grow and recede
they grow thinner with time
withered
they above all share a past
antiquity that not even eyes could portray
every trial is represented through a wrinkle
a personal memoir that will never be published
forever imprinted into the soul
experiences are engraved into the very contour of the skin
Unspoken Truth
an unspoken truth
thats lies deep within the perpetual abyss
afflicted in theory
controversial in verisimilitude
but alluring in its simple truth
it would take a credentialed hacker to decrypt the memorandum
the secret lies in their eyes
they, the ones you once new
share the same frame
an illogical paradox
that was once filled with the best intentions
but is now delicately placed on top of the mantel
collecting dust
and fading through time
its a twisting labyrinth
that lingers in a spot that no one,
especially the guilty
want to acknowledge
it will consume them
no mirror could even render the self-condemnation
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