Hands

Hands always twisting and turning

Moving further away from you

No one can stop their infinite devotion

To the pace that always stays true

Always in motion, a sickening notion

The hands that are turning, drifting further away

The creak of a door hinge, the taste of an orange

Take you back to a specific place

That feeling of empty, that used to be trendy

A mind always yearning, never knowing when it ends

The smell of a burned bridge, the wail of a conscience