Wash your hands. Over and over again. Until they shine and sparkle. Until the dirt fades away from between the whorls and the ink mark tattoos begin to lighten. When the scent of soap fills the air and it feels good and clean. Even then, keep washing. Until you can hear a squeak when you rub finger against thumb. Until fingers get damp inside out and begin to shrivel and prune. Until your nails recede into the flesh, burying themselves under the cuticles. Until palms begin to whiten and then flake. Until the blood within scurries back into the safety of the veins in your wrists. Until your hands turn raw with soap. Until it hurts for water to run over it. Until it hurts so much you can’t take anymore. Until you just have to stop because you have to. You just have to. Stop.