Covered in spikes.
Caked in doom.
Ready to stab.
Tiny, stubby hands,
With poison seeping out,
Every single solitary pore.
Care for a taste of the batter?
Stubby, petite hands.
Who know what they want.
Oh,
They know it well.
Stubby, little hands.
Waking up from a dream-
Or nightmare?
No- a nightmare.
To be honest I am rather speechless. Please do not take this the wrong way. I thought it was very interesting and in a weird way I am increasingly intrigued by it. I'm just curious as to who these stubby little hands belong to.
ReplyDeleteYour wording is really..amazing. I know that sounds cheesy, but I've read this three times and everytime I do I can't help but admire the diction that you used and the voice. But still, whose hands?
P.S. It's always the quiet ones (: