Me peeling fingers,

ripped from innocence,

diving into adolescence.

What is it that makes them this way?

The fall from ideals,

the way my skin peels,

and cracks and drys like never before.

When did my hands become dry?

Lets lotion over, to soothe the soul,

pretend like it's annual.

The ashy dust is wiped away,

to diguise the hands that were lead astray,

clinging, just barely, to the sides,

afraid of being plucked like animal hyde,

holding stedfast on my hand,

sheilded from a remprimand--

When did my hands beome dry?

My hands, now tainted, cracking , clammy,

shaking in fear from who they are,

my hands begin to tremble,

as the realize exactly how far

they've been.

When did my hands become dry?