try it again.
he turned his hands over slowly
in front of his face,
examined them carefully, every callus
every protruding vein
the roadmaps on the back of his hands
blue lines running up between
the hills of his knuckles.

he used to trust them
they used to have a life,
a mind of their own
he used to sit back and marvel
at his hands at work
in spite of him
they knew what they were doing
if not why.

he looked down at his fingers,
now thick and scarlike
stiff and cold, like strangers
meat and bone like dead things
cut adrift, aimless and awkward
dangling useless and dark.

don't scream,
there's no one around to hear it
and it'll be even quieter afterward
silence will slowly seep back in &
fill up the slashed crack of space
thick liquid quiet

and then you're worse off than before