her hands covered in suds from the soap in her bathroom
thinking.
constantly thinking.
"it's not my fault. Yeah. It's not my fault."
rubbing slowly at the shame that covers her hands.
shame that will be a reoccurring thought later in her future.
she was not aware of the repetition.
Never ending thoughts; sharp.
Stabbing through the soft darkness that is her mind.
a hot blade burning the wound leaving its mark.
Permanent.
Never will it go away.
"my hands are unclean"
Flesh to flesh.
Too young to understand
but to only know that it is wrong.
Her hands.
So small.
Fingers curling.
fingertips touching her palm.
Thumb tucked in.
Such a small fist.
"So small."
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