Crime of Desire

Rubbing the palms into each other, I lift the fingers. Water doesn't help in hiding the shades of blood. I pour some more gel to wash the hands. The bubbles are increasing and fall down in the basin. No matter how much I try to show spotless the edges of nail, it looks heavy. Insight of my inside looks back at me in the bathroom mirror. I gaze close to my right eye. When the nose is about to hit the glass, my foot gets hurt. Drops of blood flow down from my left eyelid towards my lips as I look down. It tastes salty.