You twist my hands, and my mouth
kept still. Again and again.
Turning blue and purple, they are dying.
And I thought: Is this the way
holding hands feel?
Suffocating, and miserable,
I don't think this is right.

We stayed statuesque, out of sight
of crazed eyes, and my mouth kept still.
Vibrations stuck between the walls
of my throat. Under my mind, above my chest.
And your hands are still on my hands.
And now they're turning
into the early night.

This is how we die, you say.
Even nothing has been forged
into my memory. Your hands had killed mine.
Over and over, i cling to the possibilities.
And you let go when my hands are gray
walked back into your skin.
You are nothing but a murderer.

And this is how
I cannot go back to you. You are smart
I applaud you. That's the thing
anger is an impasse. As you are.
And now, i wonder
why I didn't think this before
**You were killing the very thing that i could hold you to keep you mine.