These hands are unjust, an act of sin lays upon them. I turned on the water, turning the knob to red. Perhaps I could burn the devil from these palms. 
Her hair was down, wavy against her low cut blouse. Her hands still holding her purse.  
I scrub these hands together, the foaming soap bubbling over these hands. These hands are not mine, they are extensions of the demonic beings that have attached themselves to me, attacking my soul and my self. 
The door was still open as she walked in, 12:00 AM. Where the hell had she been. 
The cross of the Lord’s son looks down upon me from the wall, my judgement day has come and I am being judged but does he know that it was not me, nor my doing. These hands are not mine, their actions are not mine.  
The empty bottle of scotch is broken across the ground, its pieces like little knives splayed across the kitchen floor. 
The hot water numbs these hands, as I scrub, and scrub, and scrub these hands. The skin of those hands begins to peel, ripping off of my body. My body but not my hands. Not my doing. 
She avoids my eyes as her mouth spits an explanation, a lie, a deceit. Ephesians 5:6, “Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of such things God’s wrath comes on those who are disobedient.” 
I am cleansing the sin from these hands, perhaps the Lord himself had come onto me to continue his doing. Exterminating sinners through my gracious soul. The sins peel off into the sink. 
Proverbs 12:22. Lying lips are an abomination to the LORD, But those who deal faithfully are His delight. 
These hands bleed out the sacrifice I gave to the Lord. I am the sacrificial lamb to execute the Lord’s work. 
Hebrews 13:4. “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous.” 
Isaiah 53:7 
“He was oppressed and He was afflicted, 
Yet He opened not His mouth; 
He was led as a lamb to the slaughter, 
And as a sheep before its shearers is silent, 
So He opened not His mouth.” 
I am the lamb led to the slaughter. 
Her waves became soaked in the sacrificial blood. Oh my Lord, why have you given me this power, this gift? 
These hands are now raw, born again as pure bone, pure white.  
Her neck had become a river of sins flowing out onto the ground, down to the hell where she belongs. 
The bones of my hands were made from God, and now they are exposed to the world as a statement that I am made from God. I am his son.  
Perhaps this was not my judgement day from God. 
But hers.