Hands created to create are torn, bloody, and sore.
Brick by brick you build the wall,
and separate yourself from the you that used to be.
Like a murky water reflection that is constantly disturbed,
the ripples never-ending, you find no peace.
Driving your mental fingernails in deep,
you crave blindness, but the sight is always there.
Stains like rust tattoo your near transparent cheeks,
displaying the pain that has melted from your eyes.
My arm bends in a way, curving around to hold,
and it's strong enough.
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