Bloodied hands

These bloodied hands are a testament to many things. Bloodied from battles galore. Every day only brings them more bloodshed as they're coated in a crimson sorrow.

A testament to a survivor. A testament of a never ending battle. These bloodied hands hide within them a face that floods them with tears. Every battle inflicts new pains that hurt so hellishly it makes you feel like you're dying.

These bloodied hands are sickened with moisture from the efforts that move them forward. To cup the light of every day. The dawn that brings another new battle. Hands that feel the warmth and sweat. The sun wasn't a hope, however. It was just another burning. Another wounding attack disguised as a savior.

 The battles don't bring me closer to something greater. Why is there this fight if there is nothing worth fighting for? In the end that is all I am left with.

In the end like every day and the day after it , I am left with my blood, sweat, and tears.