Fingerprints made of dirt and sin
Touch the fine lines within this wooden tableAttempting to feel your soul through a mysterious connection
Our genes are equal
For I am the babe of your womb
A mother is a mother
Yet the idea is not the same
Counting the quarters in my hand
The amount of silver layers equated to time
The time I'd spend wasting
While you spent them wasted
Your money turned me into an amazing Pool player
The sound of cracking pool balls and chalk rubbing on the end of a stick
Such beautiful musical notes turned into high pitched screams
The only memories I choose to remember
Using my senses to search for nothing
My ears unavailable
I don't listen for your voice or your words
Emptiness.
Yet my dirty hands and sinful heart
Try and find you here
Sharp, thick, black lines in this wood
Slice through my skin
Time wasted
Your silver layers built into my filthy hands
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