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The Importance of Hands for Jason Austin Johnson Upon looking at his dead body I was compelled to kiss his dead lips and I instinctively put my hand on his hand And I was shocked Not by the deadness of his lips, for his lips were always dead, But of his hands. I took time to notice The scar On his knuckle From when I slammed His hand In my car door. He told me then He'd rather be dead Than have no hands. And now, he was dead With hands. I wanted to cut off his hands To justify his death And take them home with me and keep them under my pillow So that I could keep up with the stage of decay I ache for his hands The hands that created me The hands that molded my reality The hands that shook as they pulled my hair The hands that moved over the piano to make me cry The hands that wiped those tears away The hands that I held as I slept The hands that rested casually on my knee The hands that knew me better than I know myself The hands that flurried with excitement The hands that lit my cigarettes The hands that pumped my heart The hands that pulled the trigger. But The hands are dead and buried. And I'll cut these memories off and take them home with me and keep them under my pillow So that I can keep up with The stage of decay.
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