when I hold
my own hands
My imagination does ensue
they arent burning
in the cold
and are somehow holding you

And when, away it is you slip, my hands hold tightly still onto
the belief you now know and understand- to me,
What these evil drugs did do.

And in death, maybe you'll
Feel what these constant aches
construe

when I'm holding my own hands,  
it's to pretend that one's s from you
and to comfort my sore soul as
As  life were still all
Sufferings through.