There’s not enough.
I’m more than two handfuls,
I can’t keep it in anymore.

The glass peels off like wax,
and drips onto the floor.
I’m bleeding, I’m bloodied.
I can barely keep myself,
out of the puddle
forming on the floor.

I couldn’t ask for help,
I’d hate to take it all—
I’d need all their hands,
just to hold myself.

Someone with four arms,
I hope they come to save me.
With just two hands,
I can’t help hold
their spilling glass too.