Rude is in the fingers
They drip cyanide over the words of honesty on the yellowed pages
Written from a once whole beating heart that now lies like the pages, curling and warped in the cobwebbed corners.
Rude is in the fingers
Harshly dancing on the spine that once held me up
But now I am but nerves so pinched and eyes so lost and a soul left in the past
Tears so dry they could not quench a desert
Rude is in the fingers
That molded with mine in times of needing comfort and solace
Radiating warmth into iced recesses amidst a trauma laced smile
Rude is in the fingers
Walking through my hair as you say good-bye, I`ll be home soon
To go away and do all this to someone else who deserves it as much as I
Rude is in the fingers
That fly helplessly in the air when you beg forgiveness
Knowing I`m too weak to say I don`t love you anymore
Rude is in the fingers
Blow upon blow of fist and friends
Leaving welts and bruises an artist captures to prove sanity
Rude is in the fingers
Holding the semblance of your black heart in the wintry night
Finally surviving and letting go of days ago