Hundred Hands

A hundred hands reaching inside,
My skin wishing to part with me while still alive,
Fingers clawing onto bone,
The fortress in my mind a temporary home,

No water, no soap can clean the mud off of my soul,
Scrubbing scrubbing, thoughts digging a shallow hole,
Palms scorching deep marks onto my flesh,
Sponges, graphs without success,

Shiver under water stream,
No hope of ever being clean,
No beating back the spectral hands,
I wish, I wish as fear demands,

The sponge I clinge to breaking up,
My hands are slowly giving up,

One hundred hands drag me below,
Never safe for they always know,
Where I hide, inside which hole.