my hands tremble
with the needing of it all
with the dark angry teeth
eating away at the cavity in my chest
like a starved animal
     one- one- one- one- one-
i count the ticking of the clock
in static numbers
the red needle skipping
like a record scratch
there and back and there and back
and there and back again

my hands tremble
with the needing of it all
and the hate and the hurt and the hunger
and the empty empty empty
before the slumber
i do not sink into sleep
unless, that is to say
like a shipwreck
fighting and howling and breaking apart
these days i feel too much
or not enough
and i miss the liminal spaces
so much that one would think
they were never there at all

and my hands

- my hands -

my hands tremble
with the needing of it all