I Have Two Hands

“I want them gone, removed, destroyed, cut off.”

When I lean my head against the wall, looking, down at my hands, and angrily think this. It’s a stupid thought.

I can’t hit anything or myself in a way that’s cathartic, even if I bruise. It’s now just as unsatisfactory.

Like they are a failure in expression. Used to be one of the only things about me that I liked.