Solemn and wet hand's palms,
Cover eyes with all their might.
Desparate fingers reaching out,
Clutching hair and holding tight.
Two sullen and downtrodden arms,
Want something new to squeeze.
They've been perpetually wrapped,
Around two all-familiar knees.
The only company in bed,
Is the coldness of the sheets.
Holding things like pillows close,
Knowing they cannot give off heat.
Before the point of crying,
There's a giant, screeching halt.
Realizing Fate is no enemy,
But that it's your own fault.
Until you change - you'll clutch hairs,
Hug knees, hold pillows, and moan.
You'd like to laugh - but would it matter?
You know you'd be laughing alone.
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