Every morning when you wake up,
you open up your hands.
You notice that they’re shaking
Your angry fingers quiver —
It’s getting out of hand.
You crawl out of bed with sorrow,
stop to sprawl out on the floor.
Force yourself to make it further
Keep on trembling toward the door.
You find safety in the sunlight
Bask in the kind light of the day
But still your hands are shaking —
Comfort won’t permit your stay.
One tells you that you’re broken,
Two more say you’re just fine.
Another tells you that he’s seen before —
a girl with damage in her mind.
You’ve lost all sense of normal
So you reach fingers far and high
But the further that you stretch them,
the more cold water slides from eyes.
So you keep them closed up tightly,
fists of memories made of knives.
Your palms begin their bleeding —
Regret flows from your past lives
Restriction is the only way
To bring the shaking to an end
Tight fists to keep the trembling
From getting out of hand