These Hands Poem by Beating Tree

These hands I have do not belong to this flesh.
These hands don’t have skin just bones.
These hands hold a long and thin scythe.
These hands I have did something I didn’t want.
These hands I have, I want them to be chopped off.
These hands I have kill me in the inside
These hands I have torture my eyes.
These hands I have do not love what I love.
These hands I have tossed away the ring I vowed to cherish.
These hands I have stole my wife.
Hands of pain, of horror, of heartlessness, these hands are mine.