The tips of my fingertips have been
Used until they have been overused.
The papers I behold with my fingers all
Day have led to the disappearance of
My identity, in a way. My uniqueness has diminished to a point where it is no longer unique. I trace the tips in
a rhythmic fashion until this motion tires me out and my mind wanders to arbitrary trips to the grocery store to buy eggs and milk. As my eyes close on their own accord, I dream of insane things.
Note to readers-This poem is primarily based on the scientific fact that your fingerprints start fading as you age and faster when you handle lots of paper or lime.
Your welcome. I know you like it when i tell you facts out of the blue.
I hope you have a great day. Spread smiles!
Avantika.
Avantika Singhal /timidandvivid 