These hands can't rebuild you sanity.
They can't make you better.
These fingers can't let you free
you can't feel them when it's you they touch-
and thus my idle blood, skin, and bone,
can't make you any less alone.
I am forced to watch you drain-
to see become a barren body.
It paralyzes me to see you're so broken
and drains me to hear what we left unspoken.
You are losing vivacity
dwindling away to weight and water.
And i'm doing all i can to capture
the resilience in you that's always my rapture.
I stretch to reach inside you with hungry hands
but they never quite reach
the emptiness of loss
is a lesson- to me, they never did teach.
I have on my own accord come to understand,
how it feels to lose who you thought hard as rock.
I've watched rock break and stone, pebble, sand, and wash away
and like sand on sea floor- I've watched the tide make you decay.
And all these helpless hands have left to do,
is hold each other and pray.
They will stick to your skin, from when your body you unfetter
and they will wipe my wizened eyes because i couldn't make you better.