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Oily fingers
The sound of splatter or a loud crackle-
Cause a million slandering gazes-
Turn towards its epicentre,
Where I stood.
Of course, something stayed broken-
Into a million uneven pieces-
On the ground, scattered,
Near my foot.
None of which survived yet another day;
Despite a million classes of objects,
Got my unwavering attention-
Cut too short.
No matter who be the real culprit,
Always a million index fingers-
Led to this confused person-
On my spot.
And so was my insanely fancy epithet-
Spread to a million random persons;
Accusingly call me 'oily fingers',
Every chance they got.
© Furin
Cause a million slandering gazes-
Turn towards its epicentre,
Where I stood.
Of course, something stayed broken-
Into a million uneven pieces-
On the ground, scattered,
Near my foot.
None of which survived yet another day;
Despite a million classes of objects,
Got my unwavering attention-
Cut too short.
No matter who be the real culprit,
Always a million index fingers-
Led to this confused person-
On my spot.
And so was my insanely fancy epithet-
Spread to a million random persons;
Accusingly call me 'oily fingers',
Every chance they got.
© Furin
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