You're the trembling of my hands
    On the steering wheel,
You're the rubble of all I thought
    To be real.
You're the empty space between
    My fingers,
You're the bedside where the cold
    Still lingers.

These hands they itch
    To grasp your thighs,
This heart it longs
    To bring demise
To the girl who learned
    To build strong walls,
The storm that cleared
    These hollow stalls.

My hands are
    Cookie-cutter shapes,
My hopes are
    Silhouettes.
Even though it's not a game,
    I'm singing,
        "Ready, set..."