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Hungry Hands
I keep my pockets empty,
But I wash these hands again.
A fragile kind of balance,
Between the hunger and the rain.
I walk the streets in daylight,
Chasing echoes I can’t name.
The world keeps getting louder,
But my heartbeat stays the same.
And I feel it coming over me—
The quiet pulling like a tide.
I rarely eat but I wash my hands,
Trying to stay clean in a broken land.
I’m running on fumes but I still stand,
With empty pockets and these hungry hands.
I trade the nights for silence,
And the silence talks too long.
I fill the cracks with patience,
But the edges still feel wrong.
The city lights are shaking,
Like they’re flickering in doubt.
I’m learning to keep moving,
Even when the lights go out.
And I feel it coming over me—
The weight of something undefined.
I rarely eat but I wash my hands,
Trying to stay clean in a broken land.
I’m running on fumes but I still stand,
With empty pockets and these hungry hands.
Spin me ‘round,
Let the world turn slow.
Caught in the sound,
Where the lost things go.
Wash it away,
Let the water command—
All the stories written
On these hungry hands.
I trade the nights for silence,
And the silence talks too long.
I fill the cracks with patience,
But the edges still feel wrong.
The city lights are shaking,
Like they’re flickering in doubt.
I’m learning to keep moving,
Even when the lights go out.
And I feel it coming over me—
The weight of something undefined.
I rarely eat but I wash my hands,
Trying to stay clean in a broken land.
I’m running on fumes but I still stand,
With empty pockets and these hungry hands.
I rarely eat but I wash my hands,
Trying to stay clean in a broken land.
I’m running on hope but I still stand,
With fading shadows and these hungry hands.
