Tied Died

My fingers were long,
very long,
piano fingers as my mother used to call them,

and they had aged overnight,
as if they belonged to someone else,
someone with stories of pain,
of tragedy,

fissures that signified scores and scores of self induced solitude,

only I had not lived scores and scores of years,

I was only Marching into some of this,
there were many, many seasons until the winter of all of this,

these digits had betrayed me,

they were not of my mind,
not of my should,

this was not chirophobia,
gerontophobia,

it was none of this nonsense,

they were tying my hands here,
so I thought it best to chop them off,

yes,
that would certainly do the trick---