My hands have become something to fear. 

If you touch me, will I melt? 

Or will you crumble away? 

Pain. Pain is all I am good for. 

Don't.

Touch. 

Me. 

I write to release but the burden will crush you. 

Look! Everyone else has fled 

Far away for a reason. 

You come ever closer but, please, be wary 

Of my scorched and rotting hands.