A hand that wants to murder me

I'm in the shadow of a hand
caressing the chalk frame
of all my misplaced shames ...

She's eating flowers
on a fractured television,
from all angles of my heart;
She's holding a hand
imitating the movement of my own,
burning the flowers she borrowed from me ...

I'm in the grasp of a hand
flicking my spine,
like repressed regret ...

She's naked,
whole body free
in the palm of a cold burning hand;
She's chained to me,
dragging all feelings of love
into a hand that wants to murder me ...