I’ve got eyes on my hands and they’re watching you.
They’re watching you even when I’m not.
I can’t stand to, you broke me.
Buried me under rags made to look like fine silk,
curse words uttered so sweetly they might be compliments,
palms to my cheek masquerading as gentle caresses.
I can see that change in your eyes
even when I don’t care to look.
Notice your posture straighten, lips purse.
I can look away, but the eyes on my hands
stay focused, recording your every move.
Frequency; time, date. Evidence.
Treeshallow Musings 