Dear Hands

Fired, right from you public another dotted
i just leave crumbs for me then pull back,
riptide liar aspire hanging high inside your sty
you’ll find me swinging noose peruse my blues
and start your bingeing
it’s in my bytes
it’s in my words
it gel’s my hands, you bots on…
from your sand box, soap box climb
find your larynx and make it dry
get this down right
satiating hollow
it feels like i don’t own you this set of fits
feels like a part to miss an overwhelming thing
to do it takes too much time avoiding
to try keep just a front of your own paradigm