My hands can't make a fist
Like yours.
They tremble
Shaking off the stone
That the colossi painted
Over their slumber parties as kids
The cracks that divide my hands
From freedom.
My dry hands
Are dehydrated
From the lack of love
No moisture
My tears could only be used
To break through
The thoughts of hell
I cannot spare
To shed another.

Don't dare you touch my hands
Look closely
Those blue veins
Are memories
I avoid at school cafeterias
They hide
Under my callous hands
Which work to no goal
Only to dreams
Scattered on the ***** floor

Oh?
Your smile
Seemed to wake up my pores
And prove me wrong
By telling me

It’s going to be okay

Yes Yes
I can make a fist like that
But only if I'm holding your hand