Hands on repeat

Hands on repeat

They are reaching for me again
when it is dark and I am
underneath and I am
quietly scratching away the notions
that first took fingers from my hands.
 
They come out from the bed again
and the walls too and I am
seeing ink disappear I am
watching it go before me the words
that I have written with my hands.
 
They undo what I was again
and again and I rewrite I am
preyed on by the ideas I am
trying to say something but
the pen will not move my hands.

 
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