Cut Off Hands

Cut off hands crawl up the hill

Flesh stumps in search of a thrill

Leaving behind two blood trails

Severed wrists with long red tails

Fingers dig into wet soil

Like spider legs spooked from toil

Grasp at an old weathered root

Hoist up from a dead man’s soot

Crawl forward in search of prey

Ankles to clutch and to lay

Or roll as dismembered fists

As blood still squirts from their wrists

The hand balls knocking out rats

Those squealing blackened eyed brats

Crawling or rolling they come

The more you drink up your rum

Scurry up your back this night

And grip your throat much too tight

A lover’s touch turned dark cold

As nails dig into your mold

Scrape away your final scream

And tear open your soul’s seam

Not much left when they move on

Your flesh shredded before dawn

The cut off hands freed from hell

Leave behind nothing to tell

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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