By: Zoey Pearce
Even the sharpest of teeth
do not compare
to the
hands
that
bite.
Round and round.
In circles they go.
Skimming your body’s delicate skin with their gentle touch.
Their warmth melts away the cold goosebumps on your arms.
They lightly cup your face and rub their thumbs against your cheeks.
Comfort flows from them into you.
Guiding you through life.
Making you believe that they are on your side.
That they will always make time for you.
As moments pass, the genuine care between you and the hands falters.
They start biting and grazing you with razor-sharp words, telling you to do more, be more, and live more.
The hand’s round fingertips begin to feel like double-edged daggers.
Their light skimming turns to tight gripping.
They forcefully move up and down your arms, scratching at your skin with jagged fingernails, drawing blood.
Their harsh words from before drip into your cuts and make you regret not doing more, being more, and living more.
The hands that were once a remedy for your pain are now the cause of it.
Echoes of the hand’s scornful laughter fill the air as you struggle to fight against their powerful grasp.
Strong palms clench around your wrists and have hold of you.
You have lost control.
From this moment onwards, you belong to them.
The hands of time present us with the gift of life, yet, they are the same hands that completely destroy our existence.
Zoey Pearce
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