Hands
That night, my hands were not my own.
My mind- I was not home.
I did not caress, I did not cry.
You did what I was told.
I wanted it all to explode.
I wanted it all to burn at my feet.
I wanted to be a burning beacon of the end.
I wanted to burn alive.
I am burning alive
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: