Fear

I study my hands closely:
The lines around each knuckle have grown

Complexity, they scream
Aging, they confess

Like a piece of crumbled-up paper
Destined to be abandoned in the wastebasket
Bearing the unbearable pain in its ugly creases

Since when did wrinkles creep onto my skin?
I fear that one day they would take me by force and conquer me
My hands would become foreign
So would my face my body

Promise me that you would then leave me be
Sulking in the wastebasket like the abandoned page
Any consolation would only cause agony
For the creases can not be smoothened
Even by the finest ironing.